


Is This Real Because I Feel Fake

by lysiabeth



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, descriptions of trauma, descriptions of vomiting, not sure about the rating yet, some triggers:, unhappy/angsty jackson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:05:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3138674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysiabeth/pseuds/lysiabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson thought back to the sociology class he had taken for extra credit, how Ms Morrell had sort of glossed over the effects of PTSD, how sometimes, if it was something so horrible and something that meant the victim couldn’t cope, the brain would force it to forget. How, if this happened, the victim could sometimes go years without any effects from the trauma. How it only took a small trigger to bring those memories back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is This Real Because I Feel Fake

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this has been beta'd but the final few paragraphs have only been checked over by me!
> 
> I am so excited for this, after three days of writing and procrastinating it is finally done. It so did not come out how I originally planned but I think that's what made it better. It was originally based of [this headcannon](http://jrbourne.co.vu/post/102126737069/uss-erection-my-head-canon-that-stiles-and), and I really hope you guys like it!
> 
> (note: anything in italic is a flashback)

_Jackson doesn’t like to blame Stiles for the things that happened in the past, but looking at it now, where him, McCall and Stiles are all sat in the principles office, it was pretty easy to just divert all of his anger towards the skinny bumbling thirteen year old he used to call his best friend. _

_ Looking at the bruise blooming above his eye form where he hit his head after Jackson pushed him over, Jackson’s stomach starts to feel tight, and all he wants to do is vomit, curl up in a ball, and then never ever leave the dark abyss he knows he’s so far into he could never leave.  _

_ “Boys.” The principle barked, and Jackson stands, lets McCall and Stiles walk in first, and follows them head hung low, eyes stinging, and fingers gripping the hem of his shirt.  _

_ “Now. Let’s talk about this.” The principle started, and Jackson lifted his head to meet the eyes of all three of their parents, and Jackson knows there is no way he would ever be going back from this.  _

_ ———— _

_ ———— _

Jackson felt too hot.

A sticky, make your head ache, body thrum where you stand kind of hot, and he needed to get out of… Wherever it was that he was.

Around him, he thought he could hear yelling, but the only thing he could see was darkness, with the odd flash of light.

Behind him, someone screamed his name, and Jackson stumbled over his own feet to try and get near them - whoever it was, they sounded frantic, and in pain, and it made Jacksons chest tighten. Around his arms however, when he tried to move, he felt tied to the spot, and Jackson shouted out as he felt himself being pulled out, pulled away. The heat was almost unbearable now, and above him he heard an almost feral scream, the grip around him tightening.

Jackson woke with a start, kicking his sheets and blankets off of him, unable to catch his breath, sweat soaked and heart hammering. When he closed his eyes again, an image of somewhere so foreign yet so familiar flashed in his mind, and he gasped for breath when he opened his eyes, sure that he knew exactly what he had been dreaming about.

 

_ “What the hell?” Jackson yelled, being pushed down in front of the house he was currently looking at, a surge of… something… rising up in his chest as he looked over the exterior.  _

_ Jumping up to his feet, Jackson looked around, then forward again to where Derek Hale - known basket case and freak of the town - stood on the house’s front porch, a hard glare on his face and his hands in his pockets.  _

_ “Do you kids not understand what private property means.” He said, and the tone of his voice made Jackson feel rigid and cold.  _

_ “Chill the hell out, man. This is a running track - for anyone. No need to get your panties in a twist.” Jackson spat, brushing his running shorts off as he turned to look back up at Derek Hale. Jackson wondered why he even cared so much about the house - as far as Jackson knew, there had only been a few survivors, and it looked like a dump anyways. The survivors followed as Derek, who had taken to staying in Beacon Hills; his older sister, Laura, who was in New York or somewhere else just as important; and Peter, who had apparently skipped town.  _

_ Jackson couldn’t blame the last of the three - this town sucked, and losing your whole family in a fire would definitely a big reason to ditch.  _

_ “Stay away from this house, Jackson.” Derek said, who had apparently walked up to him in the time Jackson had been thinking, and as Jackson looked up at him, he was already walking towards his car, and driving off.  _

_ It wasn’t until Jackson had returned home and had had a shower, that when he was sitting in his towel on the end of his bed, it occurred to him that he had no idea how - or why - Derek Hale had known his name.  _

Jackson rubbed his hands over his face as he turned on his bedside lamp, his breathing finally evened out. There was no way - no way in hell - that his dream could be real.

Right? 

Jackson thought back to the sociology class he had taken for extra credit, how Ms Morrell had sort of glossed over the effects of PTSD, how sometimes, if it was something so horrible and something that meant the victim couldn’t cope, the brain would force it to forget. How, if this happened, the victim could sometimes go years without any effects from the trauma. How it only took a small trigger to bring those memories back.

Seeing the house.

Meeting Derek. 

Jackson didn’t have any idea what it meant, but he knew he needed answers. He refused to talk about his adoption with his parents - it was painful for all of them, and their relationship was already strained enough - and so that left him with little options.

Jackson flopped back onto his bed and sighed, held his hands on each side of his head and squeezed until it hurt. He only wished he could squeeze harder, maybe feel his skull get crushed, his brain ruined, no more thoughts or guilt to keep him up at night like it so usually did. No bad memories, no more fights with his parents, no more… Anything. Jackson was anything but a quitter, his high grades and various sports teams made that clear, but sometimes, if he was honest, he could sit back and tell himself that maybe death, maybe no longer existing, wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

He squeezed his eyes shut and sat up fast again, feeling jittery and electric all over, his body a machine of bottled up energy and emotions. Not knowing what else to do, he picked his phone up from where it was charging on his floor, biting on his wrist until the person on the other line picked up.

“You better be dying or I swear to god, when I see you at school tomorrow, I will brain you with a piece of lacrosse gear.” Danny mumbled, and Jackson laughed, almost hysterically, into his phone.

“You ok, dude?” Danny asked, and Jackson suddenly felt his too quick breaths coming back.

“I need a favour, and it’s going to sound weird as hell, and you’re gonna wanna ask a lot of questions, and I probably won’t answer them, but can you help me?” Jackson asked, and he heard shuffling on the other end of the line.

A deep sigh.

Silence.

“What do you need?”

_ ———— _

Jackson passed the lacrosse ball between his two hands quickly, the rhythm at which the ball his his palms making it easy for him to stay calm, for him to focus.

Thud - whoosh - thud - whoosh - thud — 

“Ok, here. This is all I could get for you, and not because I didn’t try, but because there is literally nothing. It’s like… I dunno man, half of your files are missing? But they aren’t?” Danny said, sliding his laptop over for Jackson to see.

Jackson read over the ER report, his eyes taking in every piece of information, and then reading it again.

“There is literally nothing in here. All the injuries I had are blacked out, where I was found, blacked out, who bought me to the ER - blacked the fuck out.” Jackson ground out, pushing the laptop away from him.

“That’s why I did a bit more than just check medical records. The date and time you were bought in are still there - because the hospital has rules that they can’t get rid of those. I typed in the date of when you were bought in to see if anything had happened that day. You know anything that counts as town news is documented, and so I checked to see if anything may have gotten news coverage, and it was weird as hell. Like, you’ll never guess what happened that d—“

“The Hale fire.” Jackson stated, blankly. Somehow, he already knew that would be the answer.

“The… Hale fire.” Danny trailed off, and they both looked at each other in silence as the words hung in mid air, casting an eerie feel over the two of them where they sat.

“Find anything else?” Jackson asked, his optimism - not that he ever had much to start with - completely drained.

“Actually… I was able to look up the police reports of the fire. They make the less gory ones public after ten years. Most of the deputies on the case have retired, though there was one name that stuck out who still happens to be a part of the department.” Danny said, and Jackson raised his eyebrow waiting for Danny to finish.

Danny looked back to his laptop screen and then sighed. “Back then he was just a deputy. I think he’s best known as the Sheriff now, though.” Danny said quietly, averting Jacksons dark gaze and slowly closing his laptop.

“Stilinski.”

 ————

The last time Jackson had been in the sheriff’s station was after he had found out about the adoption thing. Jackson remembered that day as clear as anything, how he felt everything crumble, how he now got things. Things like why both of his parents had brown eyes and his were bright blue. How he was blonde when his mother had black hair and his father had brown hair. How he stood from the table, told them he needed to be excused, and ran so far into the preserve, the only way he was found was by one of the Deputies who had been doing a patrol in search for drunken teenagers.

Jackson had been driven, snotty nosed and tear streaked face to the station. the deputy’s coat hanging off of his small shoulders much like the weight of everything that had fallen in the past few hours, and when he arrived it was to the concerned face of the brand new sheriff - or rather, back then, his best friends dad.

Stiles was there too, having probably heard what was going on through his dad’s radio, and he sat with Jackson, not saying anything except offering him a curly fry, taking one of Jacksons hands in his, and holding it tightly until Jacksons parents, worried sick and frantic, walked through the doors and were immediately pulled into Sheriff Stilinski’s office.

It was also around that time that everything turned to shit, but Jackson couldn’t think about that, not here, and definitely not now.

“Mr Whittemore.” The deputy at the desk nodded, and Jackson nodded back, his stomach curling as he placed his hands on the desk.

"Is it possible to see the sheriff?” He asked, and the deputy - Morgan, her name was - raised her eyebrow. She picked up the desk phone, pressed the number one with a jab of her index finger, and glanced at Jackson once again when the person on the other line picked up.

“Jackson Whittemore wants to speak to you?” She said, as if the sheriff would have any clue as to why, and she listened for a few seconds before placing the phone back in its cradle.

“You’re lucky, you reached him just before his lunch break.” She smiled at him, opening the front gate for him and watching as he walked through into the bull pen. The door to the sheriff’s office opened, and, almost walking into Jackson, came a protesting Stiles.

“Dude I am so… Sorry. Ah.” Stiles said, scratching his head of hair - which had grown quite long over the past few months - and looking down to the left.

“Thanks for the lunch Stiles, I’ll be sure to remember it next time you want something.” The sheriff said sarcastically, standing under his door frame and raising his eyebrows at Stiles as he opened his mouth to more than likely make a retort.

Jackson watched as Stiles then flicked his gaze to Jackson, lowered his arms, and swallowed his reply.

“I’ll see you at home later?” Stiles asked, and the sheriff nodded, then signalled for Jackson to follow him in. Jacksons shoulder brushed against Stiles’s own, and they both immediately looked to each other and averted their eyes just as quickly. 

“Sorry.” Stiles mumbled, and Jackson bought his hand up to his shoulder, holding on to where it had just touched Stiles. In a daze, he walked into the office, and was bought back to reality when he heard the door close behind him.

“Figured you wanted privacy.” The sheriff stated, and Jackson shrugged, looked around, and sat in the chair opposite the sheriff’s. On the desk was a salad from the local deli. 

Jackson realised he hadn’t eaten breakfast the morning. He also realised he had no idea what to say.

“I have to be honest with you, son, I’m pretty sure there’s better ways to be spending your holidays than in here.” Stilinski said, and Jackson nodded.

“I need some information.” Jackson croaked out. He looked up at Stilinski who leaned back in his chair; waved his hand out in front of him. 

“You were a deputy… You investigated the fire at the Hale house back in ninety-nine.” Jackson stated, and Jackson could sense how the whole mood of the room changed. Stilinski immediately tensed up and he clenched the desks edge with his hand.

“What do you know?” he asked, composing himself, and Jackson shrugged.

“Not much. I know that the day I became an orphan was the day of the fire, because the day of the fire is the day I was admitted into the ER, apparently parentless and alone, them only knowing my name because apparently a witness - who I also don’t know - was there to tell them. I found my medical file, but most of it was blacked out. Names, my injuries sustained, how I even got them…” Jackson explained, and the sheriff stood. He wandered around his desk and turned Jacksons chair so that when he knelt down, they were eye to eye.

“This is the kind of conversation you should be having with your parents.” The sheriff said, his voice low and pained, and Jackson couldn’t stand it anymore. He got to his feet abruptly, watched how the sheriff stood back and held his arms up.

“I don’t know if you know sheriff, but the relationships between my parents and I is severely strained, and has been for like, six freaking years now. I need answers, answers that I have no clue to the questions I need to ask, and that I’m not legally allowed to know until I’m eighteen, both facts I know but… I can’t live like this. Like… Like I’m in the dark.” Jackson finished, turning to where his chair was and kicking it over. It crashed and rolled across the floor and Jackson was seething, his breath short and sharp, and he knew he had probably just fucked everything up.

Behind him, he heard movement, and he turned to see the sheriff walk to his filing cabinet, unlock it with the keys from his belt, open it up, and begin to rifle through it. When he turned back around, he was holding a file, about ten centimetres thick, bound together with many different elastic bands.

“I promised your parents… In fact, hell, I promised the damn court I wouldn’t say a word to you, so I’m warning you now. Anyone - and I mean anyone; your friend Danny, your girlfriend, hell, even a stray animal, knows you have this, and my career could be over. You have quite the reputation of being a jerk, son, and while I can see why, please make sure you actually keep quiet about this.” The sheriff said, and handed the file over the Jackson. 

The file was heavy in his hands, different bits of paper sticking out the top, and written in neat writing on the top left corner were the easily readable words 

‘HALE CASE’.

Jackson didn’t know what to do. Looking up at the sheriff, he nodded to him, bit his lip and then turned to open the door.

“Jackson.” Stilinski called, and Jackson tightened his grip on the door handle closing his eyes tight. Turning to face the sheriff, he saw the face of a man who looked at him like he had that first time in the station. Full of guilt, and worry, and compassion. It made his head spin.

“It’s not a nice report. I would suggest you maybe take a deep breath before deciding to read it. Clear your head first or something.” The sheriff warned, and Jackson swallowed the lump in his throat, nodded and left the office, gripping onto the file as a life line, as if without it, he’d have no grip on anything at all.

_ ———— _

_ ————_

_ Jackson wasn’t even sure of what started the fight. The only thing he was focusing on was letting out all of that anger, and the best way he figured he could do that was by getting the lacrosse stick his eighth grade teacher had handed him, grabbing the ball, and chucking it as hard and as fast as he could. He didn’t even mean to hit McCall in the head, but when he went down with a yelp, Jackson only had a few seconds to figure out what was happening until he found himself on the floor, a livid Stiles on his chest with his hands on his shoulders, shaking him._

_ Jacksons skull pounded, and his lacrosse stick - which had conveniently fell before him - was now digging into his back where he lay._

_ Stiles was shouting at him. Profanities, accusations, things that would have probably made Jackson punch him in the throat if he was even truly listening. He couldn’t breathe, what with Stiles’s knobbly knees digging into his sides, and the sun was glaring in his eyes, and then all of the pressure of Stiles being on top of him was suddenly lifted, and Jackson was dragged to his feet by - bless the guy - Danny._

_ “The hell, dude?” Danny asked, holding Jacksons arms and brushing him off. Jackson pushed him away and went over to where Scott was slowly standing to his feet. He scowled when he spotted Jackson._

_ “I— I’m sorry.” Jackson said, looking at the large bump that had already formed on his forehead._

_ “It’s ok… I shouldn’t have been walking in front of the goal anyways.” Scott admitted, rather sheepishly, and Jackson wanted to do nothing thank just kick himself for making himself look like such an ass._

_ “Dude! No, it’s not ok!” Stiles exclaimed, nudging Scott’s arm and glaring at Jackson. Jackson felt like someone was dragging barbed wire down his throat and through his insides, as Stiles started to once again ramble, talking about how if he had hit him on the head, he could have died, or he could easily have concussion, or… or… or…_

_ Jackson saw red. He no longer did have a clear conscience, when he walked up to Stiles, placed both his hands on the guys shoulders, and shoved._

_ ———— _

_ ————_

Jackson had a set morning routine, something he had stuck to since freshman year, and something he took pride of. The routine kept him calm, in order, and made sure that he would be organised for the day ahead of him.

At six a m, Jackson woke, got up, opened his curtains, made his bed and went straight into the shower. He would then get dressed, pack his bag, get any other homework or supplies he needed for school, then go downstairs to eat breakfast. 

This day was no different

As Jackson was busy piling his lacrosse gear into his bag, his eye caught the sight of the case he had been given by the sheriff two weeks before. It sat unopened on the left hand corner of his desk with his other books - in case his parents came into his room, of course - and it stuck out to Jackson like a beacon of light in a dark room. Jackson zipped up his bag and slowly straightened his back, picking up the file and weighing it in his hands again. He had taken to doing this every morning since he had got it, and just like every morning, his eye got caught on the now familiar ‘HALE CASE’ written on the front. Jackson thumbed one of the elastic bands, hearing it twang against the file, and then placed it back on his desk.

As much as he thought he needed the answers to whatever was in there, he didn’t feel ready at all. Once again he was the scared little ten year old boy in the station, except with no best friend with an eager hand to hold onto, and no where else to run. Shouldering his bag and picking up his stick,Jackson looked over his room, checking everything was in his place, and closed the door as he left.

“Have a nice day at school, sweetheart!” His mother called as he walked past the dining room table, and he turned to wave at her, sent her a small smile like any good son would do, and left the house.

As Jackson entered the school car park - this year, much differently in a Ford Mondeo - he turned the ignition off and lowered his head onto the steering wheel. He hadn’t heard from Lydia, and figured it was because she was at some science carnival thing she thought he didn’t know about, but he knew he would be getting an earful about when he got to school. Separated but still together, Jackson was positive even death wouldn’t get him out of her hold over him, and while he admired her for the girl she had become without him, he had to admit that he was starting to miss having someone he could talk to about serious stuff that wasn’t Danny.

_ “Jackson!” Lydia called from behind him, and Jackson watched to see her push a poor unsuspecting freshman out of the way so she could get nearer to him.  _

_ “Please not here, Lydia.” He sighed, and turned to walk away before she reached out, her hand like a vice around his bicep, and let himself be dragged to the nearest empty classroom, too tired and bored to put up a fight.  _

_ “What the hell is this?” She asked, her voice quiet yet cutting as she held up her phone for Jackson to read the break up text he had sent her, as if he hadn’t written it out himself.  _

_ “Because whatever it is, it’s not funny.” She quipped, and Jackson looked at her._

_ “Oh, that’s because it’s not a joke. If it was, there’d be a ‘haha’ at the end of it.” He snarked, and watched as her face fell before she quickly composed it again._

_ “Why then? Found someone better?” She asked, and Jackson rolled his eyes and dropped his bag to the ground. He sat on the desk behind him and kicked his legs out, folding his arms and looking at her._

_ “I didn’t do it to hurt you, alright? I just… I don’t need a relationship.” He told her, and the excuse seemed lame even to his ears._

_ “We aren’t in this for a ‘relationship’, sweetheart. We’re in this because you’re co-captain of the winning lacrosse team, and I’m, well. Me.” She explained, fanning her hands out and wiggling her fingers in front of his face._

_ “Lydia… I can’t date you. I can’t explain why and I’m not even sure I can even be bothered to so just… Let it go, please? Before one of us gets angry and hurts the other”. He sighed, and Lydia drew her lips into a line._

_ “Fine. But I expect an explanation sometime soon, because if not, I still know where you live, and I can still make your life a living hell.” She threatened, pointing a perfectly manicured nail in his face and stomping away, Jackson not even having the energy to laugh at her anymore.  _

“New ride?” Danny asked, his eyebrows raised to his hairline as Jackson stepped out of his car. Around him, his peers were looking over at him, apparently all shocked that Jackson Whittemore had a new car.

“Sold the Porsche.” Jackson grunted, slamming his door and locking the car, not waiting for Danny to catch up to him as he made his way into the school building.

“Sold it? You sold your most prized possession and bought a rich mum car? Is this a mini crisis? Dude, wait. This isn’t to do with the whole… Thing, is it?” Danny mumbled, stopping Jackson with a hand on his back. Danny’s big eyes looked into Jacksons own, as if searching for answers, and Jackson shrugged.

“I only bought the Porsche in the first place because I was pissed off and knew my parents would say yes. Now I’m not as angry, and it is not a rich mum car. Can we stop talking about it now, though? There are more important things.” Jackson said, glaring at Greenberg when he dropped his books at his feet in front of his locker.

“Like what? You know that you are the big talk of the school, right? You dump Lydia, you sell your car, you’re acting like some sort of recluse…” Danny trailed off, and Jackson turned to stare at him with a bored expression on his face.

“Fine, whatever. Don’t talk to me about your nervous breakdown. Watch what I care. See you in calc later on?” Danny asked, and Jackson nudged his best friend back from where he stood, smirking at him, and then made his way down the corridor to history. As Jackson entered the class and took his seat, he was just pulling his book out of his bag when he looked up to see Lydia, hair falling down around her face in curls and looking killer as always in bright pink lipstick and a blue dress.

“Mind if I sit next to you?” She asked, her lips twisting into one of her ‘I Know Everything’ smiles, and Jackson just rolled his eyes as she slid into the seat beside him, flicked her hair over her shoulder, and turned to face him with her head resting on her propped up arm.

“Didn’t hear from you these holidays. How were they?” She asked, and Jackson raised his eyebrow at her. 

“They were great. Probably not as great as Yale though.” He answered cooly, and watched as the smile dropped from her face.

“How do you know about Yale?” She hissed, and Jackson sent her a blank look as the teacher made his way to the front of the class, bringing them all to attention.

“Good morning all of you, and welcome to Junior year.” He said, sitting on the front of his desk and looking over every student in his class. Jackson looked around too to see who was in it, and noticed an empty seat in front of McCall, which shouldn’t be right, because last Jackson checked, it was a full class.

Just then, Jackson heard the classroom door open and, walking in behind the principle was a petite girl. She was clearly new. Next to him, Jackson could hear Lydia straighten in her seat, and knew she was doing the thing she always did when she saw new people - judge them.

“Class, I would like to introduce you all to Allison, who has just transferred from Ohio.” The principle explained, and the girl - Allison - tucked her hair behind her ear and blushed.

“There’s a seat for you there, Miss Argent.” Their history teacher said, pointing to the seat in front of McCall, and Jackson only just spotted the blinding grin new girl - Allison - sent mcCall as she sat down.

Huh.

“Now, as I was saying, welcome to everyone. This year I am hoping to teach you about many things, our first topic being early America.” His teacher started, and Jackson, already having studied something similar last year, decided to sit back in his seat further. As the class went on and they were set work to do, Jackson set his pen down on his open book and leant his head on the desk, his eyesight following one of the birds outside as it sat on one of the courtyard benches.

“Now, what exactly did the British do to Washington City during this attack?” Jackson heard his teacher ask, almost worlds away.

“Burnt it.” Jackson said, and shook his head to look up at where his teacher was now looking around for the student who had spoken.

“What was that?” The teacher asked, and Jackson cleared his throat.

“It was 1814, August the twenty-fourth. They say they did it in retaliation of destruction of private property.” Jackson said, and out of the corner of his eye saw Lydia check her notes.

“And by it you mean…”

“They set the whole city ablaze.” Jackson said, and he suddenly felt heavy where he sat. The teacher congratulated him for the correct answers and went on to talk to the class about the full events of the attack. For the rest of the lesson, Jackson could feel Lydia burning holes in his side with her eyes, and when it was finally time to leave, he made his way out as quickly as possible.

“Jackson!” Lydia called out, and Jackson stopped in his tracks, listening to the ‘clack clack clack’ of her heels as she walked to catch up to him. He reminded himself he didn’t have to stop for her. Was no longer her little puppy dog and her no longer his, but he sighed, and turned to face her anyways.

“How did you know all that stuff?” She asked, and he shrugged. Jackson honestly couldn’t remember reading about that, and it made him break out in a cold sweat about just how similar the events were to those he was currently investigating. 

Sort of.

“I think I just read about it somewhere, heard about it from someone.” Jackson explained, and Lydia looked up at him with a sceptical expression.

“Whatever. What do you have now?” Lydia asked, and Jackson pulled out his timetable.

“Uh biology- Lydia?” Jackson asked, scrunching the piece of paper in his hands slightly as Lydia waltzed away from him, in direction of… Allison. Oh. Curious as to what Lydia was doing, Jackson followed her, and was just in time to hear Lydia compliment the girl on her jacket. Jackson rolled his eyes as the two girls began chattering about - whatever girls chattered about - and looked down the hall to see Stilinski and McCall watching them. Raising his eyebrows, he saw Scott grab Stiles’s shirt and pull him away from their lockers and Jackson watched just long enough to see Stiles look back at them.

Jackson didn’t know what to think of that.

“Isn’t that right, Jackson?” Lydia asked, and he turned to face her as she looked up at him.

“What?”

“Bless him, our Jackson often likes to daydream. I was just telling Allison about how you play lacrosse - with Scott.” Lydia said, and Jackson knew then that there was definitely something between them.

“You know McCall?” Jackson questioned, and Allison shrugged her shoulders.

“From years ago. My dad and his dad knew each other before everything that happened. Oh. You do know about that, right? I didn’t just spill a big secret?” Allison asked, her lips pulling into a pout, and Lydia turned to reassure her that it was fine, this was a small town, everyone knew everyone.

“But, yeah. Jackson and Scott are both co-captains of the team. In fact, they have a game tonight. You should come! It was getting boring being the only girl to cheer them on.” Lydia said, and Jackson tapped her on the shoulder in a way of telling her he was going, waved a small goodbye to Allison, and made his way to chemistry.

Lacrosse game that night. He didn’t even know how he had managed to forget.

————

“Alright boys.” Coach barked, and Jackson snapped his head up in attention, sending a short nod to Scott as their eyes met.

“Big game… Big season. Our season! A season, to maybe, if I pray hard enough, we might get a win out of, huh?” Coach asked, and the team around him yelled, banging their sticks on the benches and lockers, the clanging of metal against metal making Jackson squirm.

“We have a great game plan, great co-captains, and of course, a great coach. Now, before we go out there, any questions? Greenberg, hand down.” Coach scorned, and Jackson scoffed with about half of the team.

“No questions? Good. Let’s go.“ Coach yelled, and the team all shouted as they placed their helmets on their heads and made their way out of the locker room. The crowd on the stands were all yelling, and Jackson could see the various signs with various players’ names on them. The flood lights casted a misty glow over the field, and Jackson could feel the Autumn wind against his face through his mask. His eyes began to tear up with the chill, and he could feel his nose going numb already. It was going to be a good game.

“You good?” A voice behind him asked, and Jackson turned to see Danny beside him, dressed in his goalie gear. Jackson nodded and Danny made a swipe at his head, and with the warning blow of the ref’s whistle, he made his way onto the field.

He stood to the left of Scott where he crouched in front of the ball, the team member he was up against looking about twice his size. Jackson looked at the other members of the team, something he had learnt to do so he could pick out the stronger players, and then looked back to Scott as soon as the whistle blew.

The game started, and Scott ran towards their goal, the ball in his net and ready to go. Jackson spotted two defenders who were headed straight for him, and, sprinting off, tackled them both so Scott could run past, and pass the ball to Lahey. Jackson ran up beside him, and when another player came running towards Isaac, Isaac turned and passed the ball to Jackson, who caught it with ease. In the background, Jackson could hear an over enthusiastic cheer, and shook his head.

In front of him, Jackson was faced with the two defenders he had taken down earlier, speeding up, he looked around, and saw Scott running a few meters away from him.

“McCall!” He yelled, and Scott turned just in time to see the ball soar towards him. Jackson went down as he was tackled, and once he was up again, saw the crowd going wild, and the team running over to Scott in a frenzy. On their side of the score board, the number 1 flashed up in red, and Jackson smirked to himself.

The ref blew the whistle again, and as Jackson ran back to position, he felt a nudge on his side.

“Thanks.” Scott yelled, and Jackson shrugged.

“Lydia threatened me if I wouldn’t make you look good in front of your girlfriend. I’ll be making the next one though.” Jackson promised, and Scott shook his head as he went into the middle of the field. When Jackson turned to look behind him, he saw Stiles looking in his direction, only to turn around when Jackson spotted him.

The next time the whistle blew, their team wasn’t so lucky. Scott ended up on his ass, and Jackson was immediately in defence mode. Running after the guy, he saw Greenberg make a run at him. As the guy went down and the ball was passed on, Jackson saw Stiles running down the field, and Jackson was almost about to smile - until he saw the monster of their defence shoulder Stiles right in the chest. Stiles flew into the air, and Jackson had ripped his helmet off before he even hit the ground. The crunching of Stiles wrist could be heard over the silence of the field, and Jackson saw his whole vision white out.

“Stiles!” He screamed, running over to him. Shoving the other guy away from him, he crouched down.

“Out of the way!” Coach yelled, and Jackson looked up to see Scott also crouching over a groaning Stiles. He sat back on his heels as the school nurse made his way over, a stretcher in hand and Finstock only centimetres behind him.

Jackson watched in horror as they pulled Stiles’s glove off to reveal a mangled looking hand and forearm, and Scott let out a hysterical sob at the sight.

“He needs to go to the hospital.” A woman’s voice said, and Jackson looked up to see Melissa, Scott’s mum, standing next to a worried looking sheriff. While the nurse pulled his phone out of his pants pocket, and Stilinski and Melissa pulled Scott to his feet, Jackson looked back at Stiles, who was pulling at his shorts with his good hand.

“You screamed my name.” He slurred, and Jackson bought his hand to his mouth.

“S’okay. I would’a done the same if you had been… Ah fuck.” Stiles finished, his body going slack as he passed out from the pain. Jackson continued to sit as Stiles was carried away in a stretcher, and he only looked up when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Assuming it to be Danny, he stood up and shook his head, only to meet the eyes of Scott.

“I know you still care about him.” Was all he said, almost as if it was a big secret - and Jackson supposed that maybe, in some twisted way, it was.

_ ———— _

_ ————_

_ Jackson was sat on his bed reading one of his new Iron Man comics when his door was slammed open. Alarmed, he jumped up, only to see Stiles - a crying, red faced Stiles - in his doorway.  _

_ “They said… The doctors. Oh god Jackson, she’s going to die.” He choked out, before crumpling in on himself and beginning to sob. Jackson galloped over to him and immediately pulled him into a hug, Stiles sounding messy and throaty and hurt, and all Jackson could do was stand there with him while he let it out. _

_ ———— _

_ ———— _

When Stiles returned to school a week later and with a shiny, neon green cast, Jackson did the best he could do to avoid him. In the whole week that he had been absent, Lydia had officially invited Allison to their group - i.e. him, her and Danny - and with her came the addition of Scott, who spent his lunchtime sending Jackson looks and updating them on how Stiles was doing. 

“Do we know who yelled out to him when he fell yet?” Lydia asked slyly on the day before Stiles returned, and Jackson sent Scott a glare when he looked at him, his eyes wide and sympathetic.

“Probably one of the girls in the crowd or something.” Danny said, not even bothering to look up from his phone screen, and Lydia turned to Allison who in return, shrugged. Jackson pushed his tray away from him, having barely touched his food, and let out a sigh.

“Something bothering you?” Lydia asked, and Jackson snarled at her, watching as she pulled her fork out of her mouth slowly, smiling around it, her lip gloss somehow staying in tact. Jackson hated her, hated her evil, hated her genius, and especially hated her dumb colour stay lipstick.

“Oh, did you guys hear? Apparently Peter Hale is back in town.” Allison said, and Jackson snapped his head up towards her.

“I thought he disappeared.” He stated, and Allison turned to him.

“Didn’t everyone? My dad and Derek Hale have some kind of history, and dad came home last night from shopping, and he had seen Derek’s girlfriend, Braeden, who told him that Derek was in a mood because one night last week he got home to his loft to see Peter just sitting on his couch like he owned the place. 

“You would be pissed too. Lose all your family one day, and the next one of the three remaining survivors just up and leaves?” Scott said, and Jackson could really feel for the guy at Scott’s words. Once again, a comfortable silence came over the table, until Danny locked his phone, placed it on the table and asked

“I wonder why he came back.”

_ ————_

When Jackson returned home that day, it was to an empty house - or so he thought 

“I see you're still a major neat freak.” A voice said to him, and Jackson whirled around to his bed to see Stiles laying on it, his arm in a sling and the other - oh fuck.

“Give that here.” Jackson snarled, marching up to Stiles and holding his hand out for the file.

“This is one of my dad’s ones, that he keeps specially in his office. Why do you have it?” Stiles asked, holding it behind his back and raising and accusing eyebrow at Jackson.

“He gave it to me.” Jackson stated simply, and Stiles let out a chuckle.

“He won’t even let me read what’s in that filing cabinet, and I read everything. Why on earth would he give it to you. Of all the people in this town, you are not one who needs this file.” Stiles said, and Jackson clenched his fist.

“How would you know that? You haven’t known a thing about me for years, so how the fuck would your hyperactive little brain know a thing about me?” Jackson spat, and Stiles’s mouth dropped open slightly.

Stiles dropped down from the bed and made his way over to the desk, where Jacksons medical file was also sitting, and Jackson didn’t have the motivation in him to ask Stiles to stop, just give him the file, go home, Stilinski.

“This is from when you were younger.” Stiles said quietly, and Jackson heard the soft ‘thump’ of Stiles placing the file on his desk. Jackson walked up behind him, saw Stiles reading over the paper quickly, and pushed the file out of his reach as he went down to pick it up again.

“The date on this…” Stiles said, and Jackson tugged the page from Stiles’s hand, folded it up and placed it on top of the case file. 

“Same as the date of the fire.” Jackson said, shrugging his shoulders and drumming his fingers on the desk. “I know.”

“But that… That’s very odd, isn’t it.” Stiles said, obviously already in ‘StilesLand’ in his head, pulling Jackson’s desk chair out and going to sit on it.

“What does it mean?” Stiles asked, and Jackson looked at him with an incredulous look.

“What does it… What do you care?” Jackson asked, and Stiles looked up at him.

“You have the file for a reason, Jax. My dad wouldn’t have just handed it over because of some matching dates.” Stiles stated, and Jackson had to close his eyes at the use of his old nickname. 

“So, what does the file say?” Stiles asked, and Jackson looked down to the file, then back to Stiles.

“I haven’t read it yet.” he confessed, and Stiles looked at him with a wide eyed look.

“Haven’t read it? That’s like… The most prestigious file our sheriff’s department has! You have it, right there at your mercy, and you haven’t read it?” Stiles asked, and Jackson slammed his hand on the table.

“It’s more than that, asshole.” He hissed, and Stiles sat back down again. It was silent again until Stiles looked up at him, a frantic look on his face and left hand waving about in the air.

“The nightmares… You always had those recurring nightmares when you were younger when you said you were… Burning.” Stiles finished, bringing his hand to his mouth and looking at Jackson with haunted eyes.

“Holy shit.” He whispered, his words muffled by his palm, but Jackson could hear him anyways, with how silent he had made himself be. His heart thudded softly against his rib cage and he clenched his fist again, thinking back to that dream, that damned dream, the one he had always dreamt, not a thing different.

Jackson grabbed his bin out of reflex, and before Stiles could even ask what was going on, Jackson vomited into it. Stiles was suddenly at his side, his hand hovering above Jacksons back as he continued to retch, and Jacksons mouth and throat seared in pain from the acrid taste.

Jackson pushed Stiles away from him as he made his way to his bathroom, dumping his bin into the shower and grabbing his toothbrush, hurriedly brushing out the remains of the vomit, and he heard Stiles approach his bathroom door. Rinsing out his mouth and then splashing cold water on his face, Jackson looked at himself in the mirror 

Large dark circles sat under his eyes, and his face was a sickly pale colour. His hair, still wet from the splash of water, was matted and messy, and his lips were chapped and pink. He looked as sick as he felt, and Jackson turned to Stiles.

“I need to read that file.”

_ ———— _

_ ———— _

_ When Rafael McCall walked out on one Tuesday morning, Jackson spent the rest of his Tuesday afternoon sitting with an angry Scott and jittery Stiles.  _

_ “What a- a- a-“_

_ “Asshole?” Jackson finished for him, knowing that as one of the words his mother called his dad when they fought sometimes. Scott whirled around, pointing at him, and nodded._

_ “Yes! What an asshole! God. I need something to kick, or beat up, or something.” He growled, tugging on his hair, and Stiles met Jackson with a knowing look._

_ “Scotty, I think I know a place.” Stiles said, pulling himself to his feet. He grabbed both Jackson and Scott’s hands, and made his way out of the Whittemore household, a grin on his face and a plan on his mind._

_ “Where exactly are we going, Stiles?” Scott called out about twenty minutes later, and Jackson patted him on the shoulder sympathetically as he took in some deep breaths of his inhaler._

_ “We’re nearly there. Sorry buddy.” Stiles said, sheepishly, and Scott waved him off and pocketed his inhaler._

_ When they finally arrived at the burnt out shell of the Hale house, Scott gasped._

_ “What are we doing here?” He hissed, and Jackson looked to Stiles for an explanation._

_ “I figure, seeing as the place is already falling apart anyways, it wouldn’t be too bad for you to take some of your anger out on it. Pull up a few floorboards, smash a window maybe.” Stiles said, and Scott looked up at the house hesitantly._

_ “My mum would kill me.” He admitted, and Jackson was sort of inclined to agree. For someone who’s dad just made sheriff, Stiles seemed to get away with, well; anything._

_ “I think if you told her, she would understand. Now, let’s go. I think inside is worse than the outside.” Stiles said, marching up the front stairs and giving the door a push. The hinges shrieked in protest, and Jackson took a step back as the birds up in the trees flew away, squawking and circling._

_ “I’ll go if you go.” Jackson said to Scott with a shrug, and Scott pulled a face before walking forwards. Jackson followed, and a few steps later he was entering the house._

_ Inside was much worse than outside. The whole place was blackened with ash or scorch marks, and the sunlight that filtered through the broken windows made it seem almost blue in colour. The floorboards were squeaky under Jacksons feet, and Jackson felt a shiver go up his spine and up onto his skull  _

_ That was nothing compared to what he felt when he looked up at the staircase, however. Jackson closed his eyes and swore he could see life. Rich warm colours of the sun filtering in, laughter coming from the kitchen, a young girl’s voice calling out-_

_ “Jackson, dude, are you crazy?” Stiles asked, grabbing his elbow, and when Jackson looked down, he saw he was on the third step of the staircase._

_ “I don’t know how stable this place is, and if you fell through it… Man, I don’t even want to think how bad my punishment would be.” Stiles moaned, and Jackson nodded, slowly stepping down the way he came and then looking into the lounge where Scott was currently playing a small tune on the piano._

_ Jackson suddenly felt a twist in his gut, and gripped onto Stiles’s hand as he went to walk away from him._

_ “Not to be a baby, because we all know I am the most manly out of all of us, but does this place not seem… Creepy to you?” Jackson asked, his voice small as suddenly the smell of banana cake filled his nose. He seriously needed to leave._

_ “I feel you Jackson. As cool as all of the big kids make it seem, this place is a bit dodgy. I don’t even feel that angry anymore, should we go?” Scott asked, and Stiles looked at his two best friends and grudgingly nodded, mumbling about how they both had no sense of adventure and if this was going to be the case with everything, he would need new friends.  _

_ It was that night, snuggled on the blow up mattress next to Stiles’s bed, that Jackson had his first nightmare.  _

_ ———— _

_ ————_

“You sure you wanna do this?” Stiles asked, and Jackson pulled his hood over his head. They were sat cross legged on Jackson’s floor with about a metre between them, the Hale case file smack bang in the middle.

“I’m not gonna be doing it by myself - may as well use you while you’re here.” Jackson justified, and he watched as Stiles shrugged.

“Ok. Jackson, if you may do the honours.” He announced, and Jackson pulled the file towards him, grabbed the elastic band furthest down the file, and pulled it off. He continued to do so until there was a pile of about fifteen bands next to the file, and, looking up to see Stiles, he lifted the manilla folder open.

On the first page was a picture of the house shortly after the fire had been put out. Fire engines were parked all across the preserve, and deputies could be seen wandering around, some in uniform, but most not.

“The fire report here says that they were called to the preserve at about three am. The chief reckoned the fire had been blazing for about half an hour before they arrived, but, due to the house being so far into the woods, no one could tell.” Stiles read out, and Jackson pulled out the Forensic Investigator’s report.

“There were eleven in the house at the time of the fire.” Jackson read out. “Wait no, hold on. Uhhh, oh. Ok, so, they could never actually say for sure how many died in the fire. They said at the time there were fourteen people in the family. Peter, Laura and Derek were all on a camping trip though - that’s why they weren’t there. They figured everyone else must have been in the house…” Jackson trailed off, and he placed the forensic report down, not wanting to know about the small bits of burnt flesh the forensic pathologist was able to discover.

Jackson began to look through the family members, reading each name, until it finally finished with Cora, the youngest sibling. Jackson slid his finger over each one, mentally counting when…

“Stiles.” he choked out, and Stiles scrambled over the strewn paperwork to sit next to him, his head knocking Jacksons as he looked down at the list he was holding.

“There’s only thirteen on the list.” Jackson barely spoke, and Stiles almost gave himself whiplash as he turned to the file, pulling out the report Jackson had previously read.

“But all the police reports, forensic ones, medical reports… They all say there were fourteen members of the Hale family who lived at the house. It doesn’t make any sense?” Stiles said to himself, and he began to look through the untouched papers of the file. Jackson thought back to his dreams, to the memory he had when he visited the house, to how Derek Hale had known his name.

“Jackson.” Stiles said, and with a heavy head, Jackson turned to him. Stiles gulped as he gripped onto a smaller manilla folder in his hand, and when he turned it so Jackson could see, he realised why Stiles sounded so empty. On the front of the folder, written in black, were the words

‘CASE 276

DOMESTIC LAW

ADOPTION FILES OF: 

JACKSON ANDREW WHITTEMORE’

Jackson sat with an open mouth as he stared at the file, too scared to reach out and touch it. His fingers buzzed and his head spun and Jackson was hit with a sense that this possibly was not the best idea.

“I… I can’t… I have to go.” Jackson said, and, standing from where he sat, trampling the file and grabbing his running shoes, he left Stiles to sit alone in his room, Jacksons name on his lips and the file still clenched tightly in his hand.

————

“You know, we still haven’t talked about the game.” A voice drawled, and Jackson slammed his locker shut and forced himself to breathe evenly.

“That’s actually why I came over last night, just, in case you were wondering. I don’t just randomly pop into your house, I mean, I used to back… Yeah.” Stiles finished lamely, and Jackson looked up at him to see him leaning against Danny’s locker, his green cast looking ridiculous against his maroon jumper.

“What about the game.” Jackson ground out, pulling his shirt on and standing with his arms folded to face Stiles.

“Don’t be like this with me.” He pleaded, and Jackson scoffed.

“Like what?”

“Like you always are!” Stiles shouted, his voice echoing through the room, and it made Jackson flinch.

“You’re always so damn… Distant.” Stiles said, and Jackson didn’t know what to say.

“Uh, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we aren’t exactly friends. There is no distancing here, it’s just called us not being close because, like I just said - we are not friends.” Jackson said, and when Stiles looked up at him, the only emotion Jackson could place on him was… Hurt.

“And whose fault is that Jackson? You… You decided that one day you just weren’t gonna talk to me anymore. Walked out of my life the one time I needed you the most and you were fucking gone from that moment on. I was there for you for everything! Your nightmares, the adoption thing, every damn thing and then that year… That fucking year, and you weren’t. I lost my mom, and then had to lose my best friend too.” Stiles broke down, and Jackson realised that he was crying. Hot tears steadily rolled down his cheeks as he stood, helpless and hopeless in the middle of the freaking locker room.

“You were always just. You had Scott. And you did the whole bonding thing with him about having only one parent and losing one parent and it always seemed like you were having better fun with him and none at all with me, no matter what we did. So I woke up one day and figured, you know, if it makes Stiles happy… Then I’ll leave.” Jackson admitted, his throat tight and his lungs fighting for air. He sat down on the bench and watched as Stiles banged his head on the locker behind him, his own tears making his cheeks glisten, and Jackson. Well. Jackson was just tired.

A bone deep, heart aching tired that no amount of sleep or pills or food could cure, and he was suddenly back to the start, in that principles office, thinking about that dark abyss as his parents spoke like dictators to the sheriff and Melissa, and the sheriff patted him on the head as he left, and Melissa sent him a sad look as she closed the door behind her, and Jackson felt like he was scrambling. Had been scrambling, for the past four years, a ripping and starving grab at something to hold onto that wouldn’t let him go. Not his fake parents, or his no longer best friend, or a girlfriend he only learnt to love as a sister when it was too late, or Danny, who helped him through everything when he needed it. No, Jackson was done trying to hold on, and, when his vision started to spot because he had been forgetting to breathe, and Stiles was crouching over him trying to shake him awake and yelling for help, Jackson thought maybe it wasn’t such a bad way to go.

_ ———— _

_ ————_

_ “Where. Are you. Getting. Your juice?” Jackson stamped out, and watched as McCalls eyes widened in shock and confusion, his eyebrows raising slightly as he met Jacksons eye.  _

_ “My mum does all the grocery shopping.”  _

_ Jackson was at a loss for words. His mum…  _

_ Jackson did not have time for this, and so, grabbing Scotts collar, he pushed him against the locker and scowled at him, breathing heavily through his nose as Scott squirmed under the hold he had on him, averting his eyes the best way he could. Jackson pulled back from him and counted back from ten in his head, closed his eyes, then opened them up again to see Scott looking at him apprehensively._

_ “Just… Go, McCall. Go do whatever it is you… Do.” Jackson sighed, turning in the direction of the changing rooms, his vision dark and blurry, only vaguely aware of how hard he was pushing his fingertips into his palm.  _

_ “What the hell is wrong with you?” A voice called out behind him, and Jackson whirled around to see Stiles - Stilinski, damnit - rushing up to him. His cheeks were blotched red, his lacrosse gear strewn over his lanky shoulders and it reminded Jackson of memories he didn’t need - or want - to remember._

_ Pushing Jackson into the wall behind him, Jackson let him, grunting when his head smacked against the plasterboard._

_ “The hell do you want, Stilinski?” Jackson spat, glaring at the younger boy as he stared at him with his eyes slitted and hands clenching at his sides.  _

_ “What did Scott ever do to you? You bitch about not being on a good team, yet when he finally gets good at something - which yeah, a whole summer of practicing will do that for you, asshole - you go and lash out at him! When did you turn into such a - a - a piece of shit?” Stiles yelled, and Jackson leant away from Stiles at the harsh tone of his voice, how he venomously spat the last few words at Jackson, and Jackson felt like he had just been winded.  _

_ Stiles lowered his arms and averted his gaze, and they stood in silence, the only thing to be heard was the harsh breaths coming from the both of them._

_ “Please, dude, just… Just leave him alone, alright.” Stiles said, his voice flat, and Jackson slumped down the wall just a little bit more as he watched Stiles walk away from him - something he seemed to always make a habit of doing.  _

_ _————_ _

When Jackson woke, it was to bright lights and a dry mouth, and when he tried to move he felt stiff and out of it.

“Shh, honey, you’re ok.” A sweet voice crooned, and Jackson looked up to see his mother sitting there, holding a glass of water with a pink straw in it. Jackson lifted himself on to his elbows and shuffled up, manoeuvring his arms so they wouldn’t catch on the IV currently hooked up to him.

“Gave us quite a scare there, sweetheart.” His mother smiled, passing him the cup so he could take some small sips. His mouth felt sticky once he had finished, and so he decided to finish the rest of the water; figured it would help get the dry taste away. He blinked a few times and passed the cup back to her, and when he looked back at her, Jackson saw his mother properly for probably the first time in… Months.

She had hard lines around her eyes, her black hair, usually so straight and perfect, sticking out of her pony tail and making her appearance seem even more askew. She was wearing some casual jeans and a jumper, and the shoes Jackson had bought her for either her birthday or christmas. It was shitty of him for not remembering, and he held out his hand to take her own.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” He said, and she smiled at him, biting her lip as her face fell.

“The doctor said it was elements of stress, dehydration, sleep deprivation and an unhealthy body weight for someone who does as much as you that made you faint. You’ve lost some serious weight Jackson, and you seem so haunted and quiet and not your usual self at all. Jackson - you know you can tell me anything, right? I do love you, so much, and I know you may not feel the same way about me but… Myself - and your father - we do just want the best for you. Always have, and, even one day when you decide you may never want us in your life, we still will. Because, because that’s what parents do, sweetheart. And we’re here for you whenever.” His mom said, and Jackson had to glance to the other side of the room to stop himself from breaking down a second time.

“I… Ok.” Jackson whispered, not having the brain capacity to think of a good enough answer - to think he even could come up with one, even if he wasn’t so drained.

“What’s happening now?” Jackson asked, and his mother looked down on him.

“The doctor is going to give you a diet to get your weight back up. Some sleeping pills to maybe help you sleep, and he wants you to see your school counsellor for a few weeks. I think you’ve had her as a teacher before, haven’t you? Ms Morrell?” His mum asked, and Jackson nodded. 

“Yeah yeah, she’s uh. She’s whatever.” He said, and his mum squeezed his shoulder.

“You have a few visitors outside who I promised could see you when you woke up. Press the button on the side of your bed if you need anything, and a nurse will come. I’m going home, I was out late last night and it’s catching up to me. Your father will visit you when he’s finished at the office. Try and get some sleep?” His mother asked, and he closed his eyes as she kissed him on the forehead and ran her hands through his hair. Jackson watched as she stood and opened the door, and he could hear murmured voices from outside. Jackson relaxed into his pillow for a minute, still feeling exhausted as hell, and when he opened his eyes again, he was met by five faces - three he wasn’t even expecting.

“So Jackson Whittemore finally falls.” Lydia sang, before going up to him and hugging him tightly. Jackson held her back, breathing in the familiar perfume she wore, and blowing some of her hair out of his face. When she stood back up she was wiping tears away, and the next thing he got was a soft punch in the arm.

“Don’t ever do something like that to me again, you piece of shit. You had me worried sick and leaving school for you, and Lydia Martin does not leave school.” She told him, sniffling through the middle of it as she continued to wipe her face. Next in line was Danny, who fist pumped him and smiled, passing him a box of his favourite lollies - tootsie rolls.

“I’m over tired, not dying form the plague.” Jackson choked out, but placed them gently on his bedside table anyways, smiling fondly for his best friend. Turning to his other side, it was to meet the three faces of Allison, Scott and Stiles.

“We’re so glad you’re ok.” Allison smiled, and Jackson half-smiled back at her, a feeling of gratitude flooding his body at the fact that these three, who two of them he had been an ass to for nearly five years, decided to come and see if he was ok at all.

“Yeah dude, we walked in to where Stiles was shouting for help and… You looked dead. I swear to god, it was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.” Scott admitted, and Stiles cleared his throat.

“I’m gonna go… Get a drink.” He said, avoiding Jacksons eye completely before making his way out of the room. A few moments after he left, and Scott turned to look at him with the same face he had been giving him for the past week - ever since that goddamn game.

“He didn’t stop crying for the whole ride over here, and even then we had to bribe him with some fries to get him to calm down. What were you two even talking about in there? I mean, Stiles is gonna be soft for you for the rest of his life, but when I came in he looked… Wrecked. I don’t even know how to put it, he was just this shell and his voice was hoarse and I don’t think I’ve seen him look so heartbroken since his mum.” Scott said, and Jackson really did not want to be having this conversation in the company he had.

“We were… We talked about the game, and how I freaked out. I dunno, I guess I just got riled up enough to faint, I mean, the doctors said I was pretty much just running myself out, maybe that was the last straw.” Jackson shrugged, and he saw the look Danny and Lydia shared - a look that meant when he was better, they would both be interrogating the fuck out of him.

Scott nodded at him and Allison took his hand and squeezed it, and when the door opened again it was to Stiles and Melissa.

“Sorry guys but now that he’s awake the doctor needs some more blood tests doing. I am sure, however, he will be out of here tomorrow, so you will have the whole weekend to catch up and lick each others wounds, ok?” She asked, and one by one, Danny, Lydia, Scott and Allison left, leaving Jackson to watch Melissa as he took his blood, and Stiles to sit silently in the corner, biting his nails and pumping his leg up and down. 

It was a comfortable distraction.

“Ok, I think that’s everything.” Melissa said a few minutes later, snapping her gloves off and smiling at him. “Need anything else?” She asked, and Jackson nodded.

“Uh… Water. Water would be good.” Jackson said, and Melissa plumped his pillow for him and went out the door, telling him she would be back in a few.

That left two.

“You didn’t have to stay for that. I know you hate needles.” Jackson said from his bed, and Stiles stood from the seat and went over to look down on him. Stiles looked almost as bad as Jackson felt, and he kept twisting his lips as if he was going to say something, but then kept deciding against it.

“You know how… Terrified, I was? To see you, like that, on the floor of the locker room with your head rolling and your tears still streaming down your face and… Terrifying.” Stiles muttered, pulling his shoes off and lowering the bed cage.

“I don’t—“

“Shut the fuck up.” Stiles hissed, nudging Jackson over and rolling onto the bed, his gangly legs wrapping around Jacksons own as he leant his head on Jacksons chest. They laid like that for a while, until their breathing was in sync and their heart rates back to normal, and Jackson was just about to say something until Stiles bet him to it.

“I never hated you.” He mumbled, looking up at Jackson through his eyelashes with his bloodshot whiskey coloured eyes. “Not even close, like. I mean, some days I just got pathetic, talking to Scott about how amazing it would be if by some off chance you decided to come up and talk to us again, just like the old days. And, I swear man, you always caught me staring at you. Most of the time, I didn’t even know why I was staring at you, I just did, and it hurt so fucking much to see you smiling and laughing and me not being there. And so then, I guess I just gave up. Sophomore year came round, you were at the top of the high school food chain and it seemed I had lost you forever. We never really spoke at all last year, and I swear to got i actually thought that was the end of everything. Until that game. You know, the first night I was at home, and a little buzzed on the pain meds they gave me, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep but all I could hear was you. Screaming my name, as if it actually fucking meant something to you that I was hurt. And I remember your face. I remember how you looked at me, and it was like how you looked at your pet rabbit - Hunter, remember? The little bastard always bit me, no matter what - but, anyways, it was like watching you look at him when we buried him in your mum’s flower garden, except you were looking at me, and I knew then. I knew. You never did stop caring for me, just like I never stopped caring about you, and I’ve been driving myself insane for this past week over fucking everything because. Fuck. I think I’ve been in love with you my whole life, and it’s taken literal broken bones and nervous breakdowns for me to realise it.” Stiles finally finished, and then he was sitting up and looking down at Jackson, and Jackson was staring at him as if he was seeing him in this whole new light, because in technical terms, he was.

“I think I love you too.” Jackson mumbled, shocked to silence, and Stiles let out a breath of air, smiled at him, and leant down and kissed him.

And Jackson? Jackson felt something good for once, a feeling he hadn’t felt in months. Not better, or relieved, or suddenly healed, but gripping Stiles’s back to stop him from falling off the hospital bed, and then pulling away to see him flushed and giggly, made Jackson feel something more than angry and empty. And it felt most euphoric, the way Stiles scrambled off the bed in a flail of limbs when he heard voices outside the room, pulling on his shoes and running his hands through his hair, then pulling up the bed cage just in time for Melissa to walk in with a glass of water and a tray of food.

Jackson figured Stiles getting told to leave was worth it though, and sitting there, with his lips still tingling and his cheeks pink, Jackson could actually sit in peace for once.

————

When Jackson returned home to his parents embrace, the first thing they did was sit down at the kitchen table, pass a pot of hot raspberry tea around, and Jackson blew on it as he watched his parents share a look.

“We’ve decided to keep you off school for the week, just so you can comfortably get back on your feet.” His father started off, and Jackson scowled into his cup, his blurry reflection showing in the pinkish liquid. 

“We understand you want to be around your friends, but we need to get your weight up, make sure you sleep properly and are drinking enough water. This isn’t a punishment, we’re doing this because we care about you, and your health, and we don’t want to see you getting sick again.” His mother reassured, and Jackson sighed as he sat back in his chair. His leg was pumping up and down where he sat, and he pursed his lips.

“Do I still have to speak to Morrell?” He sighed, and his mother nodded at him. 

“Your first appointment will be tomorrow after school. You can drive yourself to school, and you have an hour appointment for two days a week until she decides you no longer need to see her. We need you to cooperate with her, Jackson. We don’t want to fight about this anymore.” His father admitted, and Jackson stared into the flower pot that was sat in the middle of the table. His parents chairs scraped across the floor as they both stood. His mother came up behind him and brushed her hands through his hair, and a few minutes later, he heard their office door close. Jackson sat in silence, his tea going cold and the room darkening around him, until he was snapped out of his daze by a buzzing against his thigh. Shuffling in his seat to pull his phone out of his pocket, he checked the caller ID before answering.

“‘Sup?” Danny asked on the other line, and Jackson stood from his seat. Taking the cup of tea to the sink and pouring it down the drain, he made his way upstairs.

“Not much? Just sitting. My parents have taken me out of school for the week.” Jackson nonchalantly said, and he heard Danny hum.

“Sucks dude, we’re gonna miss you at training. Coach will probably blow up but, what can you do?” Danny asked, and Jackson flopped onto his bed. He liked these phone calls, where sometimes they would just leave the phone on, often talking about one thing or another, hanging up when the other had something else to do.

“You feeling ok?” Danny asked, and Jackson pulled a face, even though he couldn’t see him. 

“Tired, mostly. But I guess so. Are you?” Jackson asked, and he heard Danny chuckle.

“I’m fine dude, always am. Lydia wanted to know if you were free though, she would’ve called you herself but, well. It’s Lydia.” Danny said, and Jackson silently agreed with him. Lydia was Lydia, no changing or challenging it.

“Well I’m not planning on going anywhere, so. Sure.” Jackson uttered, and he heard Danny shuffling around - probably to pull on his shoes.

“Front door open?" 

“Always is.”

“Ok dude, see you later. Don’t beat yourself up too much in the fifteen minutes it’s gonna take us to get there.” Danny teased, and Jackson rolled his eyes as he pulled his phone away from his ear and hung up. Jackson turned so he was fully lying on his back, and he stared up onto the ceiling. He thought back to the day before, lying in the hospital bed. How his lips had felt tingly up until the moment he fell asleep. How Stiles stumbled over his feet as he left, and Melissa looked between the two boys as if she knew exactly what was going on. Jackson actually believed she probably did.

Jackson continued to look up, his eyes scanning over the old tape patches from where his dad had stuck glow in the stars on his roof to maybe help calm him after a nightmare woke him. Jackson had ended up pulling them off a week later.

“It’s impolite to not greet your guests when they come to your house.” Lydia’s voice said to him, and Jackson lifted himself so he was propped up onto his elbows, his neck slack and his face blank. Danny stood behind her with a bag of takeaways from the Thai shop and Jackson stood, cleared the books and paper on his desk onto his floor, and sat on his desk chair.

Lydia walked over and placed herself daintily on his knee as Danny placed the food on the desk in front of them, pulling up the arm chair from the other corner of Jackson’s room. The smell of sesame oil and grease hit Jacksons nose, and the whiff of it made him realise just how hungry he was.

“We bought your favourite for you, figured you needed a bit of a pick me up. But you only get to eat it on one condition.” Lydia said, pulling the plastic food containers out of the bag and then turning to face him, her face stern.

“What really happened in that locker room?” Danny asked, and Jackson placed his hands on Lydia’s hips and moved her so she was only sitting on one of his thighs, her lower back leaning on the desk chair arm.

“I was getting changed from my shower after gym class and Stiles was there. Wanted to talk about the game.” Jackson said, and Lydia nodded as she passed him the tub of honey glazed fish.

“Or, more to the point, how you screamed like a freaking banshee when he was tackled.” Lydia pointed out, and he glared at her.

“Same thing? What the fuck ever. Anyways, we were talking, and then we were talking about other stuff… Like, the past stuff, when everything fell to shit, and then I was crying like a bitch, and he went all broody and silent while he just let me word vomit all this stuff up, and then I kinda couldn’t breathe and I sort felt my eye sight going and then I was on the floor and then I was waking up in a hospital bed.” Jackson finished, and the room was filled with silence, apart from the chewing of all three of them as they ate their meals.

“So what now?” Lydia asked, and Jackson shrugged, dragging his fork through the honey sauce to find another piece of fish to eat.

“Don’t shrug at me. What now? What are you, Jackson Whittemore, going to do?” Lydia asked, standing from his knee - which made pins and needles start when the blood could flow properly - and he looked up at her.

“What is there to do, Lydia?”

“Oh you are as oblivious as a sewage rat! He’s in love with you, idiot, you can’t just—“

“I know.” Jackson ground out, and watched as Lydia’s facade fell.

“You… Know?” She mumbled, her mouth opening into a small ‘o’, and even Danny set his food onto the desk.

“How do you know?” Danny asked, and Jackson shrugged.

“We talked a bit in the hospital. Nothing big but, yeah. I know. And he knows my feelings for him.”

“Then why are you moping?” Lydia asked, her hands moving to her hips as she raised her eyebrow at him and jutted her chin out.

“Because of other stuff, ok, and I’m not moping. There’s nothing to mope about, and also nothing to talk about here.” Jackson said, blindly hoping that they would just drop it.

“You’re so… I don’t even know, Jackson. The boy you’ve loved since before you even knew what love was, and you’re doing nothing about it? Why?” Lydia asked, and Jackson looked over to the spot in the floor where him and Stiles had sat those few nights earlier. His stomach churned and he looked down to his feet.

“I’m not… I can’t.” He stated simply. He didn’t know how to explain it. Couldn’t get the words out to explain the crushing feeling he got when he thought about relationships. How some days, when his mother joked and laughed with him about marriage and kids and his future, it made his lip quiver and palms sweat. How even something as simple as a hookup made his teeth clench and stomach drop, how the thought of getting close to someone - anyone - made him feel achingly horribly ill. Jackson had only gotten through his relationship with Lydia because of the play they could put on for people. The two most vicious people in school, with the looks and the brains and the lacrosse and the aura that made people zero in on them. How their relationship had been built on a mutual crush and then their later understanding of each other, how breaking up with her had made them both snap out of the hold the social scrutiny had over them, and step back and realise that whatever it was they wanted was far from this.

“I can’t do what he needs me to do, ok? Stiles… Stiles is… I remember, ok. Even at the gangly age of eleven he would talk about how the person he would marry, he would buy small gifts for everyday, and always make sure to kiss and hug them and tell them he loved them and… That crushes me. That makes me feel so detached from everything, because I cannot do that, or handle it. I can not be the loving boyfriend Stiles deserves, and I can’t play house or give him forehead kisses or any of that shit, and it will ruin him.” Jackson said, and Danny pulled on Lydia’s hand as she went to make a retort.

“I think Stiles would love you no matter what, dude.” Danny said, and Jackson rolled his eyes. 

“You think I don’t know that? Years of treating him like shit and he still is always there, you think I never realised that? He could love me no matter what, but I couldn’t properly love him at all.” Jackson said, and Lydia shut her eyes at the broken tone of his voice. At that moment, Danny’s phone rang, the standard iPhone ringtone blaring through the room. Danny stood from his seat as he answered and made his way into Jackson’s bathroom, closing the door for more privacy. When Jackson turned back to Lydia, she walked up to him, and placed her hands on his cheeks.

“You deserve so much Jackson. So much. And you don’t see it, and that used to make me sad, but now it just makes me so angry. And I don’t even know why I’m angry, or what I’m angry at. You, or your parents, or Stiles or… What.” She whispered, her hands sliding down his shoulders and arms until they held onto his hands, squeezing as she looked up into his eyes. As Jackson made himself feel and look as blank as possible, Lydia’s green eyes scanned over his own, until she finally let go of him and turned to pick up her handbag.

“It’s late. You need to be getting sleep and I need to go home and study.” She said, and Jackson looked over to the bathroom door to where Danny was leaning, his phone in his hand and pressed against his lip.

“I’ll text you later on.” Lydia said, going up to kiss Jackson softly on his cheek, and, with a small smile, she turned to Danny and they left his room. Jackson listened to the engine of Danny’s car starting, and then the tyres as they left his driveway. 

Stripping off his shirt, Jackson decided to get ready for bed.

————

Something Jackson realised, after a full cooked breakfast and a slow morning, was that he hadn’t dreamt at all the night before. Not once.

“Remember; your appointment is at three-thirty. Please don’t be late.” His mother said, picking up her briefcase from the table and turning to look at him, an expectant eyebrow raised. Jackson nodded and smiled at her, followed her with his eyes as he watched her leave the house and then slouched even further into the couch. A few episodes of Top Gear later, and Jackson was checking his phone for a text from Danny when he saw the time.

“Fuck.” He muttered, standing up and stretching out the kinks in his back. Looking down, he concluded that his jeans and lacrosse hoodie would have to do, not having enough time to change, and, grabbing his Converse from the shoe rack, he made sure to double check the lock on the door before making his way to his car, just in time to miss the afternoon down pour that hit.

Driving to the school was a quick drive for Jackson, and he took one hand off the wheel to lean his elbow on the door, his head then being propped up by his free hand. Jackson knew the dangers of driving one handed - especially in the weather he was currently driving in - but the roads were practically empty in the town anyways, regardless of the time. As Jackson pulled into the school car park, he passed a shiny blue Jeep, and had to force himself to not look back at the owner who slowed upon passing him. Jackson was a coward and he knew it, but he had to bring himself to forget about it as he got out of his car, locked it, and jogged into the empty corridors of the high school. There, at the end of the hall, was the door to the counsellors office, and standing under it was the very mysterious Ms Morrell, wearing an all black sheath dress and heels he was alarmed she could stand in, let alone walk around in for a whole school day. He slowly made his way up to her, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum, and she smiled at him.

“Afternoon Jackson.” She spoke as she waited for him to enter her office, her voice whispery and low, making Jackson feel even more on edge than he was. Jackson took a seat and waited for Morrell to walk around her desk, before she herself sat down, folded her hands out in front of her, and looked at him with a piercing gaze. 

“So.” She started, and Jackson shrugged.

“Jackson, I have to tell you know. This won’t work if we don’t talk.” She said, and Jackson sighed. He knew that. had promised his parents he would make an effort. Looking at it now, he wondered what he could do to get out of it. Sitting there, now, in front of Morrell where she also sat, patiently, he felt small. Jackson looked across her desk, at the various pieces of stationery, a clipboard, and a picture of herself with another man.

“Who’s that?” Jackson asked, leaning closer to the photo to get a good look.

“My brother, Alan. You may know him, he’s the towns vet.” She commented, and Jackson furrowed his brow. The name seemed familiar, but not in the way she implied it should be. Jackson looked closer and suddenly saw the man, but it wasn’t in a vet’s uniform.

 

_ “I’m not sure what you expect me to do, sheriff.” Alan said, and Jackson shoved another one of Stiles’s curly fries into his mouth._

_ “You knew them. His… Hell, Deaton, you’re the only person I know who could be of any help here.” The sheriff said, and Jackson looked up to see the man - Alan Deaton - looking towards him, a pensive look on his face. Jackson looked away from him and swallowed the fry, not tasting anything but blandness._

_ “He is no longer of my protection, sheriff. He is better with his parents. What I have to offer is not for the needs of a ten year old boy.” Deaton said, and Jackson squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to hear anymore.  _

“Mr Whittemore.” Morrell spoke quietly, her voice still even as Jackson looked down at her, the photo frame gripped so tightly in his hands that his knuckles were white.

“Sorry, I just. He’s familiar somehow.” Jackson said passively, placing the frame back on Morrell’s desk. He sat back down, slower that time, and looked up at her as she gave him a once over.

“Ok. Let’s talk about something else familiar. Lacrosse, perhaps?” She asked, and Jackson nodded. The conversation followed smoothly afterwards, Morrell asking about his place on the team, his relationships with the rest of the boys, moving onto the swim team also, before clapping her hands together and smiling at him.

“It appears our hour is up. I expect to see you on Thursday, the same time please. If you could also maybe think of things you would like to talk about, then maybe we can start with something that’s really bothering you.” She suggested, and Jackson stood. He nodded at her in thanks and she nodded back, and Jackson saw her as he turned to shut the door, picking up the photo frame and placing it in her desk drawer.

He didn’t know what to think of it.

————

Jackson’s week followed similarly to his first day off. Sitting around the house, driving to the store to waste his time buying food he wasn’t even hungry for, maybe spending the night playing video games with Danny, watching a movie with Lydia. He even ventured out on a bowling date with Allison, Scott, Lydia, Danny and Danny’s boyfriend.

Stiles never showed.

By the time Thursday came round, Jackson had almost been bored to death. He had decided to go for a check up at the hospital that morning, and with a warm smile the doctor told him he was once again at a suitable weight, and, if he wanted, could stop the diet the hospital had put him on those few days ago. As Jackson was leaving the hospital, he bumped into Stiles. 

“Oh… Hey.” Stiles waved, his eyes flicking around the place and Jackson nodded at him.

“Hey yourself. What are you doing here?” Jackson asked, and Stiles lifted his arm up.

“Because of how severe the break was they want to take my cast off, get another x-ray, you know? See it’s all healing properly and I’m not spending weeks in a cast that’s doing nothing for me.” Stiles said, and Jackson let out a small “Ah.”

“Everything good with you?” Stiles asked, and Jackson nodded.

“I guess. I’m sleeping better and eating more, if that’s what you mean.” Jackson said, and Stiles looked at him funny.

“I was actually meaning… Never mind. It’s good you’re good. I’m glad.” Stiles smiled, and Jackson smiled back. 

A nurse behind them called out a “St..iles Stilinski?” And Stiles stood from his seat in the waiting room. Brushing his hand against Jackson’s as he walked past, Jackson shook his head and smiled, made his way out to his car, and drove home.

When Jackson pulled up to the drive, he checked the letter box, and was met with the front page of the newspaper which made him fumble with the other letters. On the front of the A3 page, written in block letter was the headline. 

‘HALES REBUILD HALE MANSION?’

With a picture of the burnt out shell of the house under it, and a large article. Jackson locked his car and grabbed the paper, making his way inside and up to his room, where he immediately fell onto his bed and began reading. The article started off like many regarding the fire did - about the terrors of that night, the survivors, those lost - and then it took a turn for the slightly different.

“I just felt it was time to come home.” A statement made by Peter Hale told the readers, and Jackson felt his throat tighten up. Reading on, he read about how Peter spoke about leaving, and coming back, and then the plan to maybe renovate the house.

“It’s been empty for years, and the main foundation is still there. It will take a lot of work, but I think we’re ready to go through with it. Re-build it, and work towards re-building ourselves.” Laura Hale stated, and Jackson had to wonder how they had even contacted her. However they did, it seemed they didn’t need to go through the hassle, with the next statement saying that Laura would be returning home to supervise the renovation. Jackson tossed the newspaper onto his floor and flopped onto his bed, his face pressed against the pillows, his muscles and joints aching as he forced himself to relax from his tense position. Jackson laid there for an hour or so, just breathing in and out through his mouth, his head once again jumbled up.

Danny’s voice flitted through Jackson’s brain, the quiet “I wonder why he came back” sounding almost haunted while the rest of his memories clashed with it.

“I guess now we know.” Jackson mumbled to himself, and, pressing his face further into his pillow his nose actually hurt, he let out a scream.

————

“So Jackson, let’s talk about your parents.” Morrell started, and Jackson raised his eyebrows, affronted.

“Let’s not.” He quipped back, pushing as much humour and snark into the two words. 

“Jackson, please. What’s it gonna take to get you to open up?” She asked, and he shrugged. Morrell let out a sigh, and then turned to stare at him. 

“Let’s talk about something else then. Perhaps that newspaper article from yesterday’s paper. I’m sure you know all about it, being friends with one of the most popular and talkative group of people in school?” Morrell asked, and Jackson felt his heart jump into his throat. 

“Which one?” He asked, and Morrell smiled.

“The one on the front page of course. Peter Hale returning to Beacon Hills to rebuild the Hale house.” Morrell said, and Jackson felt himself starting to sweat.

“Why in the hell would I care about that?” He asked, and Morrell shrugged. 

“It’s the most famous thing our town has - even those who weren’t around or alive when it happened talked about it. I just figured you would be eager to talk, maybe a casual conversation could make you feel comfortable about talking to me about more sensitive topics.” Morrell said, and Jackson slitted his eyes at her.

“It’s cool. Whatever. Good for the guy. Don’t know why he’d ever return though.” Jackson said, picking at the cuticle on his thumb.

“And why do you say that?” Morrell asked, and Jackson dropped his hands to his lap. 

“They lost everything. That house probably has nothing but bad memories for them, yet he comes running back nearly fifteen years later? It doesn’t make sense.” Jackson said, and Ms Morrell cocked her head to the side.

“Maybe you’re right. Nothing left in this town except a nephew who no longer needs his uncle. Maybe he just thought it was time to come back. Maybe rebuilding the house is a way to, rebuild himself, like he said in the article. Maybe coming back was just a way to start tying up lose ends.” Morrell speculated, and Jackson looked at her with a curious look. Morrell looked back and met his eye, and suddenly Jackson felt very, very cold.

————

When Jackson returned to school that week it was to a class of high spirits - the annual winter formal had crept up on them all again, and no one was bothering to pipe down their excitement.

It made Jackson want to put his head through his locker door.

His counselling sessions had now moved to during school, and after a pretty iffy session where Morrell had showed him pictures that looked scarily close to flames, he was feeling jittery all over, and so not in the mood for Lydia rambling about her colour scheme for this years dress. Dropping his fork into his pudding, he glared at her.

“Lydia, please for the love of God, shut the fuck up.” He snapped, causing Danny to look at him with a scowl on his face and for Lydia to turn cool.

“I’m sorry, was my good mood imposing on another ‘My name is Jackson Whittemore and my life sucks’ episode?” She snapped back, and Jacksons cheeks flushed. 

He really was acting like a dick.

“I need a minute.” He said, standing up for the cafeteria bench and grabbing his bag, making his way into the school corridors. His body felt warm all over, and he wasn’t even looking when he walked passed Morrell’s office, right into a body who was stepping out.

“Damnit.” He cursed under his breath, rebounding back a few steps as the other person let out a grunt.

“Are you ok there, Peter?” A voice from inside the office asked, and Jackson quickly jumped to his feet and looked up to see a man, a woman, and Morrell all looking at him. 

“Sorry, young man.” The other man said, and held out his hand for Jackson to shake. 

“Peter, Laura. This is Jackson. Jackson, this is Laura and Peter Hale.” Morrell said, and Jacksons eyes widened in shock quickly as he took in the sight. 

Peter was a solid build, with strong shoulders and sturdy body. He was dressed in a simple black v-neck and washed up jeans, some biker boots on his feet. Laura was short but lean, her dark hair piled into a bun on the top of her head, dressed in a cream dress and dark blue heels.

“Jackson is one of the students here. Junior year, I believe?” Morrell asked, and Jackson nodded sharply, noticing how Laura’s eyes widened and Peter’s hands clenched. Laura smiled at Jackson and then turned to Morrell.

“Always lovely to see you Marin, but I believe it’s time for us to be leaving now.” She said, and Jackson watched as she nudged Peter in the side, who was staring at Jackson with such an intensity it made him want to hunch up.

“Agreed.” Peter spoke, cooly, and with one last look at Jackson, followed Laura down the hallway to the school doors. Jackson turned to Morrell who raised her eyebrows at him.

“You know them? The Hale’s.” Jackson asked, and she crossed her arms over he chest.

“More Laura than the other’s - we were in the same year at school. My older brother is more familiar with them, that’s how I got to know the rest of them. That’s the thing about small towns - everyone knows everyone.” She stated, walking back into her office and closing the door behind her. Jackson stood in the same spot for a few minutes, his brain working through the event that had just unfolded.

Everyone knows everyone.

———— 

When Jackson got home it was in a worse mood than when he had left. It added up to three main things, following as him being soaked to the bone due to a vigorous lacrosse training, having being told - told, not asked - that he would be Lydia’s date to the winter formal, and, the fact that both of his parents had called him to tell him he would have to eat dinner alone.

He was not happy, and what made it worse when he walked in to his room, went to grab the razor he had bought that he had left in the shopping bag on his desk, and ended up kicking everything he had dumped off of it when Danny and Lydia had visited with Thai food.

“Fucking hell!” He yelled, throwing his bag so it banged against the wall above his bed, he bent down, water dripping all over the papers, when his eyes caught something he had made sure he never wanted to see. Pulling his adoption files up from under his chemistry homework, Jackson stared at it in disbelief. After he had left Stiles sitting in the middle of his floor with the strewn out Hale file, he was sure Stiles had packed up the whole thing with him. It was no coincidence that this had been left on his desk, and, turning it over, that speculation was confirmed. There, written in Stiles’s messy scrawl on a blue post-it note, was a few sentences.

 

‘Jackson.

I know this is hard for you, I could see that all when we were looking through that damn file. But I also know it’s gonna eat you alive if you don’t know, which is why I’m leaving this here while I take the rest of the file back to my dad. Whether you read it or not, you’re gonna find out sooner or later - I just hope when you do, you aren’t completely wrecked.

You’re the only one who has control over you Jackson, and you need to remember that, but you also need to know that sometimes doing the wrong this is the only thing that can feel right afterwards.

Just, think about it?

Stiles.’

 

Jacksons razor and shower completely forgotten, he sat himself on top of the various things that were still all over his floor, took the post-it off the file, and stuck it to the edge of the desk. Taking a deep breath, he opened the file, and braced himself for whatever was in it.

_ ———— _

_ ———— _

_ When Jackson looked up again, it was to see Deaton leaving and the sheriff running his hand down his face. Then, the sheriff turned to him and began walking over.  _

_ “Your parents are on their way.” He said, and Jackson scowled at him.  _

_ “They’re not my parents.” Jackson said, and as cruel as it was, he felt that to be true. Stiles squeezed his hand even harder, hard enough to feel his knuckles grinding against each other, and the sheriff sighed.  _

_ “Listen son… I can’t tell you things aren’t gonna be easy. Or that they will be easy. I know this is a shock, but your parents have loved you in the seven years they have been your parents, and they want nothing more than the best for you.” The sheriff explained, and, reaching out to squeeze Jackson’s knee, he stood up from where he had been crouching, cracked his neck, and then walked into his office.  _

_ ———— _

_ ———— _

The file contained five pieces of paper. The first, a statement made out by Alan Deaton, who signed off from being Jackson’s guardian, therefore making it eligible for him to be put up for adoption. In his statement, Alan spoke about how had had been Jackson’s legal guardian for almost a year now. The deputy asked how he came to be the guardian. Alan refused to answer, telling him it was confidential information covered by the state. The deputy made his partner check that out. Alan was telling the truth.

The next two pieces of paper were his parents details. Occupations, names, address, history, family, why they wanted to adopt, all of the standard pieces of information. Jackson didn’t need to read those - he already knew everything about his parents already.

On the fourth piece of paper was the official court document, signed by the judge, legally making David and Vanessa Whittemore the legal guardians of Jackson Whittemore. The final piece of paper wasn’t anything to do with adoption at all - it was actually Jacksons birth certificate. With shaking hands, Jackson picked it up. 

It was made of thick paper - the kind of stuff his mum’s fancy letters were made of - and filled out with beautiful calligraphy. Jackson read over it, and where, for all of his life, any official document had been written for the name Jackson Andrew Whittemore, on the top were the words, spelt out in black ink

‘Jackson Andrew Peter Hale’.

—— 

**“Sometimes I have to ask myself exactly whose side you’re on.” A voice spoke in the doorway, and Marin looked up from where her brother looked at her, his arms folded and face portraying no emotion at all.**

**“I’m on my own side, brother. Always have been, and shall continue to be until I feel I am not the most trustworthy person I know.” She answered smoothly, folding her hands together in front of her. Deaton smiled to himself - out of spite or fondness, he wasn't sure - and looked down to the floor.**

**“I do hope you know what you’re doing here. This isn’t just a little happy family stitch up. By law, he is to have no association with them. Not until he’s eighteen or not until his parents decide for him.” Deaton explained, and Morrell rolled her eyes.**

**“Perhaps, but I believe it’s better this way.” She concluded, and Deaton looked at her with pursed lips.**

**“I sure hope you’re right - for his and your own sake.”**

——

It was still raining when Jackson left his house, his birth certificate shoved under his coat jacket as he got into his car, put the key in the ignition, started the engine and began driving. He ended up at the Stilinski household - because that’s where he always did, when shit hit the fan - and stopped his car, skidding slightly along the kerb, as he pulled the key out, got out of his car into even heavier rain, and slammed the door shut - not even bothering to lock it.

He ran up to the Stilinski’s porch, got to the door and slammed his fist on it frantically, looking out into the sky when he heard the first crack of thunder. He hated winter. When Jackson turned back it was to the click of the door opening, and he looked to see an open-mouthed Stiles, dressed in sweats and a hoodie, a concerned look on his face, and a fork held defensively in his hand. 

“It’s him. He left the day after the fire and he left me with Deaton, and Derek and Laura made the decision for him a year later to put me up for adoption. It was him, the son of a bitch left me!” Jackson explained, and Stiles held up his hands.

“Jax! Slow down. Him who? Who left you? And what the hell has Scott’s boss got to do with anything?” Stiles asked, his face twisted in confusion.

“Peter Hale. He’s… Peter Hale is my real father.” Jackson choked out, and Stiles dropped his fork.

————

_ Jackson had always had a hard time sleeping as a child. Restlessness caused him to be out of bed sometimes up to ten times a night - always to be put back in his cot by one of the many members of his family. The night of the fire was no different.  _

_ Wide awake and holding onto his toy lizard, he braced his chubby hands on the side of the cot and pushed it the way Cora had showed him, making it slide down the tracks and allowing him an easy way for him to climb down. That night was hot, and Jacksons cheeks were flushed from it. He made his way over to his room, and as he stood on his lego box to properly reach the door handle, a blood curdling scream disturbed the silence of the night. Jackson slipped as the door opened and he quickly walked out of his room, to the sight of his mother, a few doors away, standing in her pyjama pants and t-shirt, a look of horror on her face and she looked towards the fire that had engulfed the whole North wing of the house._

_ “Jackson!” She yelled, and Jackson, uneasy on his chubby toddler legs and frozen in fear, turned to her as the banister fell down behind him._

_ “Jackson, run!” She screamed, as Jackson began to cry. Shakily, he began to walk towards the staircase - that big, shiny staircase, where him and Cora had slid down with Derek and Laura on the couch pillows, where he climbed all over his father whenever he returned home, where he watched Laura cry last week for a reason he didn’t know. He made his way down as fast as his legs would let him, gripping the toy lizard as tight as he could and trying to avoid looking at where his Aunty, Uncle and cousin’s bedrooms all were. He finally made his way to the bottom, and when he turned around, his mother was no where to be seen._

_ The smoke around him made him cough, his little lungs struggling to work without any oxygen. His vision blurred and his eyes stung, and he was so, so, hot.  _

_ “Jackson!” His mothers voice screamed out again, and Jackson was just about to turn back up the stairs when he was scooped up into someone’s arms. Jackson let out a yell as some of the roof caved in, and the man carrying him began to rub his back and ‘shhhh’ into his ear. He was out of the house in seconds, and in the middle of the preserve in a minute, and he could hear the murmurs of Alan Deaton, his Aunty Tahlia’s friend, calming him.  _

_ “Who is that?” A voice yelled, and Jackson was moved as Deaton turned to face him._

_ “Jackson Hale, Peter Hale’s son. He was at the bottom of the stair case when I went in.” Deaton explained, and Jackson heard the sound of someone talking through a walkie-talkie, a lot like the one’s Derek used to play with.  _

_ “Anyone else?” The other voice ask, and Jackson felt Deaton shake his head. Jackson didn’t know what was happening, or why he was out of his house in the middle of the night being held by the vet. He was hungry and scared, and he wanted his mum and dad.  _

_ “His father - he isn’t home?” The voice asked, and Deaton moved Jackson into the crook of his other arm.  _

_ “Him, Laura and Derek - two of the three Hale siblings - were away for the weekend.” Deaton said, and Jackson felt himself beginning to doze off. Disorientated, and holding onto the man who was speaking so many words at once, he fell asleep._

_ ————_

Jackson sat on Stiles’s bed, stripped of his wet clothes, the damp birth certificate drying next to him on the mattress, and he curled himself further into the blanket Stiles had let him use.

“Deaton’s statement, it was in the file. I never actually read the whole thing, I figured he was only speaking to the court because he was a family friend of the Hale’s. Guess I missed the part where he told everyone he pulled you out of the fire.” Stiles said, coming to sit next to him. 

Jackson couldn’t feel a thing. Wasn’t sure he wanted to. Wasn’t sure he could feel a thing again.

“Jackson… Jackson you’ve been sitting here for like an hour man.” Stiles mumbled, looking at the side of his head where it was bowed, Jackson not looking at anything particular. He supposed Stiles thought he was looking at the blanket. He supposed he didn’t care about anything anymore.

“Jax…” Stiles said, and he slowly lifted Jacksons chin with two of his long fingers. Jackson let his head be manoeuvred into the position Stiles wanted it, and watched as Stiles searched how face with those wide Bambi eyes. Whatever he was looking for was clearly defeated, when he slowly dropped his fingers from where they were trailing under Jacksons chin onto his lap. He sighed next to him, and then began to stand up.

“No!” Jackson shouted at him, and Stiles looked at him with an alarmed face.

“I was just… Getting my pyjamas on?” Stiles said, holding up his pyjama pants from where they had been sitting his dresser. Jackson nodded slowly and lowered his head again, hearing the shuffles of Stiles as he manoeuvred himself into his pants one handed. A few moments later and Stiles was standing in front of him, and Jackson looked up at him.

“Can I stay the night?” Jackson asked sheepishly, and Stiles chuckled.

“Dude, if you even think for a second I’d be letting you drive in the state your in, then you have another thing coming. C’mon, let’s get into bed. Hope you don’t mind sharing a bed, I really cannot be bothered getting the air mattress out.” Stiles said, and Jackson slowly stood as Stiles pulled the sheets back for them to be able to get in. Stiles shuffled all the way to the other side, patting the rest of the bed space to indicate to Jackson where he was supposed to sleep. Jackson climbed in slowly, laid there as Stiles pulled the duvet over them and turned off his bedside lamp.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, making splatter sounds as it pounded on the roof.

“Stiles?” Jackson asked, quietly, and waited, tense, as Stiles turned over in the bed.

“Yeah?” Stiles whispered, and Jackson turned to face him. He could only see his silhouette in the room, and Jackson fumbled as he pulled his hand out of the blanket he still had wrapped around him. He felt out, and came to find Stiles’s face. Jackson shuffled forward, his hand holding onto Stiles’s cheek as he got so close Jackson could feel Stiles’s breath on his face.

“You still like being the little spoon?” Jackson barely audibly whispered, and he heard Stiles chuckle softly before turning, mashing himself against Jackson’s front and pulling Jacksons arm over him.

Jackson fell asleep to Stiles’s soft snores, the falling rain, and holding on to Stiles’s hand like his life depended on it.

————

When Jackson woke it was to Stiles looking at him with sleepy eyes and messy hair. Jackson probably looked the same - if not worse.

“Hey there, sleepy head.” Stiles yawned, and leant down to kiss Jackson the lips. Jackson wasn’t sure how this had all started. He supposed it was probably when they were both eight and Stiles had tripped over, ending up grazing all up his forearm. He wouldn’t stop crying, and so, unsure in what to do, Jackson leant over and kissed him. It was wet, and Stiles’s tears made it awkward as hell, but he stopped crying due to the shock of it all. After that day, they used to kiss each other - it was the normal thing. Scored a goal in soccer? Won a video game? Just felt like it? And they would kiss.

As Jackson pulled back from Stiles where he was laying in bed, he smiled at him softly, and bought both his hands to rest in Stiles’s hair.

“Is this weird?” Jackson mumbled, and Stiles moved so he was straddling him, bent over with both of his elbows on the side of Jacksons head.

“Only if you make it weird.” Stiles whispered back, before going in for another kiss. This time it deepened, and when Jackson pulled away, breathless and rutting against Stiles as he kissed down his throat, he was suddenly hit with everything that had happened.

“Wait. Stop.” Jackson said, yanking Stiles up by his hair and pulling out from underneath him. Jackson sat up and wiped his hands down his face, and when he turned to Stiles he was lying on the bed, chest heaving and pink faced.

“You ok?” He asked, and Jackson shook his head.

“I… You aren’t doing this because of everything that happened right? Because you feel sorry for me?” Jackson asked, and Stiles sat up quickly.

“No…?” He asked, and Jackson puffed out his breath of air.

“Ok. Ok. I just… My head is spinning and everything was happening so fast and there’s still the whole thing with last night and I kinda feel like shit and I just. I can’t do this just to lose you again.” Jackson admitted, and Stiles looked at him 

“You’re not going to lose me, ok? Ever.” Stiles promised, and Jackson, overwhelmed with so many emotions, leant forward and pushed him onto the bed. This time, as he was straddling Stiles’s hips, he leant down to the other boys neck and began to suck and nip a nice bruise there, the contrast of the purple and red mark standing out against the pale white of his skin, and Jackson smiled into his neck.

A silence followed as Jackson laid happily on top of Stiles, until he heard a hushed “I fucking hate you.”

————

The ride in the Jeep back to Jackson’s house was quiet, and Jackson ran through his head what he thought would be a good way to bring up the whole adoption thing with his parents.

He had nothing.

Watching Stiles flick on the indicator as he turned into his street made a sweat break out along Jackson’s brow, and he turned to Stiles.

“This will break them.” He said, and Stiles sighed as he looked up at the Whittemore household, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as the engine still ran. 

“You have to tell them. They have the right to know that you know.” Stiles justified, and Jackson sighed. Clenched his fists. Looked over at Stiles again and watched as he smiled at him. Jackson opened up his car door, undid his seat belt and jumped out, then, placing his hands in his pockets once he slammed the door shut - the hinges caught, apparently - he nodded to Stiles, and made his way into his house.

When he entered it was to the sound of some soft music playing in the background, and Jackson walked into see his parents each cutting up something in preparation for dinner. They both stopped and stared when Stiles walked in a few moments behind him, and Jackson’s mum placed her knife down and came over to them. 

“Stiles?” She asked, and Stiles nodded as she pulled him into a quick hug, smiling at her as she pulled back.

“This is a pleasant surprise.” Jacksons dad said, and Jackson looked back at Stiles, saw how he had bunched his hoodie up around his neck to hide the hickey Jackson had given him a few hours earlier, and turned back to his parents. 

“I was wondering if we could talk?” Jackson asked, clearing his throat with a grunt and his parents both looked up at him. 

“About what?” His mum asked, and Stiles came up behind him, grabbed his hand and linked his fingers.

“About my adoption? Or, rather, my real parents.” Jackson said, and he saw his parents share a long, hard look. His father went over to the oven and turned it off as his mother placed tea towels over the cut up food, and they both walked around the kitchen island, gesturing to both Jackson and Stiles to have a seat.

“What brings this up?” His dad asks, and Jackson looks down to where his fingers are laced with Stiles’s under the table. 

“I found… Danny found my medical report. From the day I was bought into the hospital? And we saw the dates match up with the date of the Hale fire. And ever since then I did some… Investigating.” Jackson admitted, and the look of hurt that flashed across his mothers face made him feel like he had been punched in the throat. “I didn’t do it to hurt you! It’s just, the nightmares came back and while I was running one day in the preserve I came across the house and Derek Hale was there and he knew my name and there were just too many coincidences. It was driving me crazy and I couldn’t… I couldn't live in the dark anymore.” Jackson finished, and he watched how his father wrapped a comforting arm around his mum, who had her hands over her mouth.

“I know who my real parents are. I found my birth certificate and I read it, and I know that my biological mother died in the fire and that my biological father is Peter Hale. I know that. And I needed to tell you because I want to talk to him, and I want to talk to Laura and Derek, and I… You are my parents. And I know I haven’t exactly been the best son, but you’ve been supportive of everything, given me everything I wanted and more but I need. I need something more than what you can but me now. I need explanations I can only get from Peter, and I’m going to get them.” Jackson said, and Stiles shuffled in his seat beside him. Jackson watched and both of his parents looked at each other, and back to him.

“We, as your parents, have to let you go on with your wishes. And we want you to be happy and get the explanation you need but, you have to realise… Peter hasn’t been in Beacon Hills for fifteen years, and in that time he has been in places no one knows about doing things he told no one about and… It will be hard, for him, to look at you and see you as his son. You have to realise that. I mean, how are you even going to meet him, honey? You can’t just go up to the man and say you’re his son.” His mother explained, and Jackson shook his head.

“I think he already knows.” Jackson said, and his father raised his eyebrows at him. “At school, he was there we… We met, briefly. Before I knew about him but he looked at me and I think he knew.” Jackson mumbled, and he looked away. Silence fell over the table, and Jackson ran his thumb over Stiles’s wrist, receiving a hand squeeze back.

“Jackson.” His father spoke, and Jackson looked up at the both of them.

“We respect your decision to want to do this, but we want to be in the know. Anything that follows from this day on, whether you meet Peter or not, we expect to know about.” His father explained, and Jackson nodded. It was as close to an ‘I love you’ as Jackson would get with them, but he had a feeling they knew what he was trying to say.

————

That night, Jackson and Stiles both laid side by side in Jackson’s bed, sharing thoughts from the years they had been apart. As their conversation dwindled to soft kisses and gripping hands, Stiles pulled away from him, and Jackson raised his eyebrows and waited for the question it was very clear he was going to ask.

“What’s your plan?” Stiles mumbled, his head resting on Jacksons shoulder as Jackson dragged his fingers through his hair.

“I have no clue. Talk to Deaton first, maybe. Then talk to Peter. I don’t know” Jackson replied, and Stiles traced his fingers under Jackson’s shirt, placing his hand on his stomach and leaving it there. 

“You want me to come with you again?” Stiles asked, and Jackson laid in silence as he thought about it. He supposed it would be easier, having Stiles by his side to make any awkward silences or questions more bearable, but Jackson knew that this was something he had to do alone. His whole life he had been guided and aided through every little thing, and for once, Jackson needed something for himself.

“I think— No. I think this is something I should do on my own.” Jackson murmured, and Stiles ‘hmmed’ in agreement as he shuffled further into the bed. Stiles soon fell asleep, resting on Jackson, and Jackson noticed how his hand often gripped into the flesh of his abdomen, and the security of it all made him feel safe where he lay.

————

When Jackson pulled up to the vet clinic and walked through the door, he was met by Scott, who looked at him, wide eyed and open mouthed, abruptly choking out “Are you lost?”

Jackson rolled his eyes and looked at him. “No. I need to speak to your boss, is he here?” Jackson asked, and Scott opened the gate for him, pointing to the back room.

“I think he’s looking over some x-rays, you should be safe to go in.” Scott said with a shoulder raise, and Jackson continued walking through into the main clinic. Along the walls were various posters on animal health and safety procedures, and standing in the back of the room, looking up at a lit up x-ray board, was the vet. He turned around as he heard Jackson’s footsteps, and sent him a small smile.

“I have to say, Mr Whittemore. I wasn’t expecting you to visit me this soon.” He said, and Jackson shuffled where he stood behind the large metal table. The vet flicked the x-ray board off and came over to Jackson, leaning against the table himself on a few feet away from him.

“I take it you have a few questions?” Deaton asked, and Jackson nodded.

“A few. Maybe more.” Jackson grunted, and Deaton looked over him with an intense gaze. “What?” Jackson asked, and Deaton shook his head.

“You remind me of your mother - your biological mother, I should say. You two look very alike. Same hair colour, bone structure and posture. You do, however, have your biological father’s eyes - and attitude, so it appears.” Deaton said, and Jackson pulled a face at the vet as he continued to look at him.

“I didn’t come here for a body once over. I came here for help.” Jackson stated, and Deaton looked at him as his eyebrows moved together, creating a confused look on his face.

“And what on earth would you need help from me with?” Deaton asked, and Jackson, his fingers tapping away on his sides where he had them clamped under each admit, blew out his breath of air slowly through his nose and looked up at the vet again.

“You looked after me. After the fire, you were my guardian for almost a year. Why did you stop?” Jackson asked, and Deaton leaned back from him slightly.

Sighing, Deaton leaned more of his weight against the table, and looked up and out of the windows that lined the top of one wall. “Peter had been gone for that time, and no one knew when he was coming back. I had a business to run which had no place for a young child, and Laura and Derek were far too young and still far too traumatised to take you into their own care. We came to the agreement that adoption would be the best for you. Give you a chance to grow up like a normal child without the past of the fire. You could have the love of real parents, and not of a fallen apart family and their best friend.” Deaton explained, and Jackson stood and listened as he began to continue with the story.

“It was the day of your seventh birthday when I got a call from Peter. He was out in San Francisco, and was calling to ask about you. Laura had somehow made contact with him a few months after your adoption had become official, and he was calling to ask how you were doing. I told him that I had barely seen you - the court making that clear to me the day I let you go - and he hung up without so much as a good bye. He continued to call, again on your tenth birthday, then lastly on your fourteenth. It was about three weeks ago today that I walked into this clinic and saw him standing, not far from where you’re standing now, telling me he had returned for good and had plans of rebuilding the house. He then asked me about you, wondered what year you were in at school, and left to go and pick up Laura from the airport. It was later on that day I believe he first met you, outside my sisters office in the school corridor.” Deaton finished, and Jackson’s ears were ringing from the amount of information they had just taken in. 

“If he seemed to care so much, why did he only just come back?” Jackson asked, and Deaton turned back to face him.

“The human brain, while an amazing organ, often has trouble dealing with over excessive amounts of trauma and emotion. Even now, you find yourself having effects to a fire you shouldn’t be able to remember. You father lost a lot that night, more than many truly know, I suspect it took him so long because he was trying to spend time fixing something that was not broken, but changed.” Deaton spoke, and the words made Jackson think about everything that had happened in his life up to this point. Made him think of how empty Jackson had sometimes felt, how he kept trying to buy things and do things to fill the void he thought had been created when he found out he was adopted. Jackson thought that maybe he was the same as Peter in some ways - the adoption hadn’t broken him. It had made things difficult, and strained and awkward, and that led to things being destroyed, but Jackson realised that he himself wasn’t broken - just different.

“Has he said anything else to you? About meeting me or… Anything?” Jackson asked, and Deaton looked at him with a sympathetic look.

“I am afraid not. However, he did manage to slip by that he would be staying with Derek until the main foundations of the house were stable enough for him to live in. I would perhaps take a trip there, see if he’s around.” Deaton advised, and Jackson thanked him as he stumbled out of the vet clinic, a confused Scott watching him leave, and his heart thundering in his ears.

————

When Jackson pulled up to the old lot of apartments, it was with a grimace and an eyebrow raise. The place was only half developed - many of the apartments only half finished - and it looked dingy and dark. Jackson had to wonder why Derek, who’s family was already loaded before the fire, had decided to live in such a morbid place.

Jackson pulled up next to a Toyota parked in front of one of the more finished buildings, and he flipped the sun visor down so he could look in the mirror. For as hyped up and jittery he had been since this whole thing had happened, Jackson was feeling calm and a ease - he wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. He looked healthier than the last time he had properly looked in the mirror - the night when Stiles had visited - with barely any dark circles under his eyes, and he had more colour in his face. Jackson slapped it back up, heard it snapping into place against his car roof, and, undoing his seat belt with a shaky breath, he stepped out.

The air was chilly, a soft breeze making Jackson pull his jacket tighter around himself, and as he walked up to the apartment lobby, his feet crunched on the fallen leaves and gravel ground, and he walked through the doors. Inside the lobby was just as bare as outside, and Jackson was really starting to worry for the mental state of Derek Hale if he really chose to live here of all places. 

Jackson was stuck. The place had to be at least ten stories tall, and he had no clue where abouts Derek would be living - if he even lived there at all. Jackson walked up to the elevator, looked at it, and decided that maybe taking the stairs would be safer. Pushing through the stairway doors, he began his ascend up the many stairs.

As Jackson passed the first floor, it was to complete blackness. The second and third floor had lights on, but tarpaulins were littered all over the floor and walls. The fourth floor was just an empty space, the fifth floor looked similar to the second and third ones, and by the sixth floor Jackson was ready to give up, descend where he had come, drive home and lock himself in his room.

That was when he heard voices.

“I hate him living with us. He just goes around, reads all my books, eats all our food it’s— What the hell?” Derek Hale said, looking at Jackson with a scowl, his girlfriend Braeden standing behind him.Jackson watched as the two watched him, and Derek stepped down the few steps that were between them until he was face to face with Jackson.

“It… It’s you, isn’t it? You really are.” Derek mumbled, and Jackson shrugged. Nodded. Watched as Derek looked back to Braeden who was smiling at the two of them.

“Peter’s upstairs. I guess that’s why you came. Watch him though, he’s in an extra bitchy mood today.” Derek warned, looking Jackson up and down a few times before reaching out to grab his shoulder. Jackson tensed up at his grip, but relaxed when Derek let go.

“Laura’s gonna freak.” He said to Braeden, holding out his hand for her to take. The two of them looked back at him before going further down the stairs.

“It’s the top floor by the way, you’re almost there.” Braeden smiled, and Jackson looked up at the window in the sky. The overcast weather made the staircase seem gloomy, but Jackson began to walk up them again. The closer he got to the top floor, the harder his heart started to beat, and he realised just how panicked he was to meet Peter like this. Meet him when both of them were in the know.

He came to the top floor and was met with one large, metal sliding door. It looked to be rusting in a few places, and Jackson held his hands on the large handle and tugged on it, the wheels scraping against the track as he pulled it all the way open, it slamming on the end of the track and rolling forwards a few centimetres. As Jackson winced at the sound, he looked into the loft. It was large, and the first thing Jackson was able to notice was the massive panelled window on the opposite wall. Under the window was a large table, and a spiral staircase was in the corner of the room leading to something Jackson couldn’t see. Jackson stepped into the loft, his breath shallow and footsteps echoing on the wooden floor, and when he turned to the left he saw Peter standing in the kitchen, frozen to the spot where he made himself some kind of sandwich, his head cocked to the side and eyes wide.

It was extremely awkward. As the two men stood and looked at each other, Peter then placed his knife on the chopping board on the bench, came around and stood in front of Jackson.

“You look so much like your mother.” He spoke softly, and Jackson watched as Peter lifted his hand. “May I?” Peter asked, and Jackson shrugged his shoulders as Peter rested his hand on his cheek, closed his eyes and breathed in deep.

Jackson stood as Peter pulled his hand away, walking to the small couch and sitting down.

“I suppose you have questions?” Peter asked, and Jackson sat on the arm chair across from him.

“Why’d you leave?” Jackson blurted out, and immediately regretted it as a dark look crossed over Peter’s face.

“It was… Hard for me. Derek and Laura could find comfort with each other, but I felt I had lost so much. My wife, a son who had almost been caught in the blaze too. My sister, my brother in law, my brother in law’s family who also had been living with us. The grief was overwhelming. Could you imagine, coming home and being old enough to understand something as earth shaking the moment it happened, unlike the two teens I had been with. I had lost everything in that moment, and it all became too much. I wasn’t thinking very clearly when I left, and it wasn’t until a few months later where I was stuck in a bar in Wyoming that I realised I had left so much behind - not just things I had lost. But I wasn’t ready to come back. I flinched at candles, got nauseous whenever I was in a hot environment, and it wasn’t until Laura contacted me that I had realised how much had happened in my absence. I made my way to Europe, met some old friends there, drank myself to an almost death, and then, one day while sitting in a cafe in Venice, it hit me that I was ready. I packed my bags, sold things I didn’t need and made my way home.” Peter explained, and Jackson flinched at his words - realised how he still had trouble with fire, remembered how tedious last year’s lacrosse bonfire had been for him.

“I didn’t want to leave you behind. If I could, I would have taken you. But it must have been around your fourteenth birthday when I remembered how toxic me taking you with you could have been. Looking at you grow when your mother could not… It would have broken me even more. So I decided that what I had done had been for the better, and pushed any thoughts about you out of my head. And then, when I came back, and had speaking to Marin Morrell with Laura, I bumped into you. I wanted to tell you everything there and then, not even realising you probably had no idea what was going on. Later that night, the sheriff had called me. Told me you had been asking about the fire, and he had given you the case file. Told me how his son had bought the case file home - minus the adoption papers. It gave me hope, that perhaps you would find out, and then you did, and you’re here.” Peter finished, and Jackson nodded.

“This is weird for me.” Jackson admitted, and Peter laughed.

“It will be. Probably for a while. It’s weird for me too. You have no idea how happy I was to find out a Thai place had been opened in the town.” Peter said, and Jackson looked up. 

“I love Thai food.” Jackson said, and Peter raised his eyebrow.

“I must admit I do have a preference for it over any other food.” Peter said, and him and sat in a comfortable silence.

“What do I do now?” Jackson asked quietly, and Peter sighed.

“Whatever you want. You’re eighteen soon, means you’re legally able to make your own decisions. You’re welcome in this family again, while I had very little training as a father, I must tell you it’s good to be one again.” Peter smiled, and Jackson nodded. Just then frantic footsteps could be heard coming from the stairs, and Jackson stood, watching the door as an out of breath and red faced Laura ran in.

“Derek called me while I was out at the preserve with the contractors. He said you’re… You’re here.” Laura said, bringing her hands up to her face to cover a sob. Peter stood from the couch and came by to stand next to Jackson, and then Laura was running again, slamming into Jackson and throwing her arms around him. Jackson could feel her chest shaking as she cried, and Jackson, shocked form everything that had happened and so unbelievably overwhelmed, began crying too, wrapping her arms around the older - yet notably smaller - woman, breathing her in and swaying on his feet.

For the first time in his life, Jackson felt at home.

————

When Jackson walked through the arrivals door at Beacon Hills airport, having just landed form a transit flight from LAX, it was to an eager group of friends and, surprisingly, Derek. Jackson hugged Stiles first, kissing him for a bit longer than what was probably strictly allowed in public, and pulled away to embrace Derek too. behind them were Lydia, Danny, Allison and Scott, and Jackson hugged them all too.

“I bought souvenirs.” He admitted, and Lydia smiled at him. 

“How was London?” She asked him, and Jackson shrugged.

“It was… Good. It wasn’t easy, I helped mum and dad move all of their stuff into their apartment and then we just did some sightseeing.” Jackson said, and Stiles squeezed his hand, knowing that Jackson had called him before boarding his flight at Heathrow, distressed and upset.

“The house looks great, we all went over there earlier.” Allison gushed, and Scott smiled at her.

“Definitely better than when we went to look around when we were six.” Scott admitted, and Derek snapped his head towards him. Scott sent him an apologetic glance. 

The drive to the Hale house was quiet, as Jackson, Stiles and Lydia all made their way to Derek’s Toyota. Jackson enquired at how all of their summers had been - having not seen them since graduation - and Lydia told him all about how she had been accepted into her preferred course at Stanford, and Jackson rolled his eyes, knowing she would have made it no matter what.

“Laura’s been almost vomiting she’s that excited for you to come home.” Derek told them, and Stiles leant forward in his seat.

“For someone like twenty centimetres shorter than me, she is seriously scary. Last week she told me if she hurt you in any way she’d hang me out of her second floor bedroom window from the house. I both admire and love her.” Stiles admitted, and Derek let out a bark of laughter.

“So, kind of like Lydia, then?” And Stiles punched him in the back of the shoulder as Lydia laughed at the two. Before Jackson knew it, they were driving up the gravel path to the clearing where the Hale house sat. Jacksons jaw dropped as they pulled up. He had seen the house in pictures various people had sent him while away in London, but looking at it it it’s true glory was almost breath taking. 

Made of white stone and glossy timber, the two story house stood almost as proud as it used to. As their cars pulled up, Laura, Peter, Braeden and the sheriff all came out to stand on the porch, Laura smiling widely and talking animatedly to Peter as he stood with his arms crossed, and amused look on his face. 

“You ready?” Stiles asked Jackson, wrapping his hands around him from behind his seat, and Jackson kissed his hand.

“May as well just do it.” Jackson sighed, and he laughed as Stiles squeezed him and pulled away. Jackson closed his car door softly and looked up at the house, deciding he would grab his bags later on. He slowly mad this way up to the house, and was met by Peter.

“I don’t really know what to say.” Jackson said, and Peter turned to the house where the large double doors were open wide to show off the large staircase. It looked almost identical to the last one.

“How about with, seeing as I’m your legal guardian now and therefore allowed to offer you one, a drink?” Peter asked, and Jackson laughed.

“Sounds great.” He admitted, and Peter walked into the house, followed by the sheriff and Derek.

“It looks pretty great, huh.” Laura said, coming to stand next to him and nudging him with her hip.

“It looks… Like something.” Jackson said, at a loss for words. As Peter came back and handed him a beer, Jackson looked over to where all of his friends were talking to Braeden, looked back up to the house, took a swig of his drink and smiled.

Here, surrounded by those he loved and others he would come to love, Jackson caught Stiles’s eye, smiled to himself and walked over. Here, surrounded by the only people Jackson would ever allow himself to open up to, he felt whole. He felt good. He felt better.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you guys feel I need to add more tags could you please send me a quick message on my [tumblr](http://jrbourne.co.vu/)?
> 
>  
> 
> 8)


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